


Constructing Dolls

by aruarudayo



Category: Hyouka
Genre: Angst, Aru is a mean writer and will never deny it, Depression, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:04:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aruarudayo/pseuds/aruarudayo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Staring at Satoshi is like staring at a doll, Houtarou thinks. The problem with dolls is that they will always, inevitably, break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I finally decided to post this from my FFN account. Despite the content, I do hope everyone reads this and enjoys the story.

"Fuku-chan is absent today," Mayaka said off-handedly. "Isn't this the third day in a row?"

"The fourth," Houtarou replied blandly. Mayaka almost believed he was bored, before catching the quick rhythm his heel beat out on the floor, belying his true feelings on the matter. He really had to fix that habit or else more people would discover he actually possessed emotions.

When Satoshi hadn't come to school one day, Houtarou hadn't given it a second thought. After all, databases had points when they were offline, and Satoshi was no different.

Now, however, the unknown status of their local bundle of energy was definitely disconcerting. Usually Satoshi notified them all of prearranged absences, and whenever he caught colds, he bounced back the next day. This lack of information for such a long period was unprecedented and Houtarou, for one, didn't know what to do.

Naturally, Chitanda roped him into figuring out where the last of their quartet had run off to, but before they could even begin to investigate on the start of the fifth day, Satoshi slid into the clubroom with an apologetic smile on his face.

"Sorry, sorry, I went on a trip with my family and forgot to say something," was his excuse. The girls passed it off as an instance of absentmindedness. Houtarou, on the other hand, was not impressed, continuing to observe.

His vigilance was rewarded by an almost imperceptible slip; for a split second, a whirlwind of emotions crossed over Satoshi's face, emotions that were completely un-Satoshi-like and left Houtarou reeling despite the brief exposure.

"What was that?" Houtarou hissed, ensuring their female friends couldn't hear.

"What was what?" Satoshi chirped, expression benign once more.

Houtarou squinted, unable to find the crack once more, and sighed. "Nothing at all."

.

.

The next day, Satoshi entered the room sporting bandages on seven of his ten fingers.

"What happened to you?" Mayaka asked, worry creeping into her eyes.

"I had a fight with a needle. We're no longer on speaking terms," Satoshi joked back, hands clasped, relaxed, behind his head.

That was when Houtarou spotted it—an unassuming flash of white peeking out from behind the boy's sleeve. As they all packed and left, Houtarou grabbed Satoshi by the wrist. "Hey, you two go on ahead," he called to the girls, "I need to ask Satoshi something."

They gave him strange looks, but followed his instructions. Once he was sure they were alone, he fixed his gaze on Satoshi. "Explain why there's a bandage on your wrist."

"I fell," Satoshi responded automatically.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"It wasn't important. It'll heal soon."

"Of course it's important, idiot. Where did you fall?"

"Down the stairs."

"Can I see it?"

"No."

Not one to press the subject, Houtarou reluctantly let go.

As the other boy snatched his arm back almost violently, Houtarou's eyes watched closely. Satoshi seemed to withdraw into himself as he cradled his arm protectively, and though he had always been small, now he looked unhealthily so, with an odd pale coloring to his skin that Houtarou swore wasn't there a few minutes before.

If he was honest with himself, Houtarou couldn't remember there being a shred of exhaustion or illness present in Satoshi's features for quite some time, but the purple shadows under the boy's eyes and the aforementioned pallor couldn't have come over night.

Had it really been that long since he'd taken a good look at his best friend?

"Are you okay?" Houtarou asked tentatively, unused to voicing his concerns.

Satoshi transformed then, as if he was constructing a doll, making sure every feature was perfect; a smile was pasted onto his lips, a dash of starlight dotted his eyes, and the colors on his body and clothes were washed with a bright, rosy tint. He even seemed to grow a few centimeters taller. The shadows disappeared from every corner of his being, and once Houtarou blinked, nothing was out of place, as if all the flaws had been his imagination.

"Nothing's wrong; why do you ask?" Even Satoshi's voice had changed, taking on a cheerful lilt completely unlike the quiet, husky tone from moments before.

Houtarou swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, his mind disoriented. "No reason."

.

.

They didn't talk on the way home. It was fairly normal for them to walk home in silence, since Satoshi knew Houtarou was exhausted from the day and would prefer not to waste any energy with mindless chatter, but in this case, the silence was utterly uncomfortable. Houtarou was glad when they parted ways, but he kept watching Satoshi's back as it grew smaller and smaller, the make-over from before not wearing off even without anyone to witness it.

How much of Satoshi was real and how much was a façade? Houtarou thought he knew the boy, but something was happening that he had no control over. When did it start? Did anyone else notice? Was Satoshi even conscious of it? Questions swam around Houtarou's head as he trudged the rest of the way home, almost walking straight into his closed front door.

"Welcome home," Tomoe called from the couch. When he didn't make his usual grunt of acknowledgement, she frowned and followed him to his room. "Hey, did something happen at school? You're even less responsive than usual."

Houtarou groaned, wilting face down onto his bed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" his sister asked, sitting on the edge of his bed and running her hand through his hair.

"I can't talk about it if I don't understand it myself," he mumbled into his pillow.

"Well, if you need me, I'll be in the den." With a final ruffle of his hair, she left him alone to sort out his thoughts.

When the door closed, Houtarou rolled over to stare at his ceiling. What did he even have to work with? A four day absence, carelessness, bandages, a split persona, lies. What was real? That seemed to be the ultimate question. He'd always thought Satoshi was an open person, easily read like a book, but now he wasn't sure.

His friend was a mystery, one Houtarou couldn't solve. He needed more evidence, more clues. One thing was certain; he would be watching Satoshi like a hawk from now on. For once, he didn't need Chitanda to pique his interest—this was personal.

.

.

The next day, though he kept an eye on Satoshi, Houtarou couldn't find anything wrong. It was as if yesterday was a fluke meant to be dismissed. He, however, wouldn't accept it; Satoshi's transformation had been too practiced, too perfect to have been a one-time thing. No, it was the result of a perpetual lie, of countless cracks and as many repairs. If Houtarou couldn't detect the cracks, he would simply expose the mask for what it was.

Houtarou hated confrontation, especially since there was no good way to bring it up. Thankfully it didn't come to that yet.

"Fukube-san, you seem tired. Are you sleeping well?"

Apparently Chitanda had a keener eye for cracks, even though she didn't even realize what she had found.

Satoshi seemed surprised; after all, the slip had been imperceptible to all but one. Houtarou looked as closely as he could, finding the small lines of fatigue that Chitanda had apparently spotted. Then, the spell was broken, and he could suddenly see all the cracks—the droop to Satoshi's eyelids, the abrupt prominence of his dark circles, the wrinkles in his sleeves from where he had no doubt been sleeping on them during class.

Satoshi noticed them as well, and within seconds of Houtarou seeing them, all the cracks were smoothed out and ironed over. It was almost like a work of art, how Satoshi simply stitched himself back up until there was no sign of a seam.

"I don't know what you mean. I don't feel the least bit sleepy." Satoshi smiled at Chitanda, and she seemed to forget she had seen anything at all.

However, Houtarou didn't forget. He couldn't confront Satoshi on a moment of exhaustion, though. He needed something more.

.

.

"Fuku-chan," Mayaka said carefully the next day, "is something wrong?"

Satoshi turned his attention to her and smiled. "No. Why do you ask?"

Her eyes narrowed, as if squinting would help her understand. "There are moments when you don't quite seem yourself. Your face gets all dark, and it's a little scary. You're being really careful with your arm, too."

Satoshi didn't even miss a beat. "Ah, you caught me. I hurt my wrist the other day when I fell down the stairs. It still kind of hurts."

Mayaka's momentary suspicion was replaced with immediate concern. "Are you okay? Should you be putting ice on it?"

"Yeah, I already put ice on it. It'll be okay in a couple of days; don't worry. Until then, I have to be careful, but sometimes I twist it funny and it hurts."

"Well, take care of yourself and stop falling down stairs. You can be pretty clumsy, Fuku-chan."

Her attention was averted to Chitanda, and the two began talking about something else entirely.

Houtarou's eyes stayed on Satoshi though, as the other sighed, a hand coming up to massage his wrist. A blank glaze came over his eyes, and Houtarou thought he looked entirely lifeless. That look wasn't one of pain. It was something else, something Houtarou couldn't quite put his finger on. However, it sent chills down his spine how completely alien his friend looked, and he was the only one who truly noticed.

Something had to be done.

.

.

"You might be able to pull the wool over Chitanda and Ibara's eyes, but you won't fool me."

The girls had left them long ago, and Houtarou was following Satoshi to his house, knowing full well that his parents weren't home and wouldn't be for some time. It was rude, inviting himself over when Satoshi clearly didn't want him there, but there were more important things than social propriety.

"What do you mean, 'fool you'? I wasn't trying to fool you about anything." Satoshi's voice sounded so innocent; Houtarou almost felt guilty for this confrontation—almost.

"Don't play dumb. Something's bothering you—has been for a while I'd bet. I'm not sure what you're hiding, but I intend to find out."

"This isn't like you, Houtarou. Since when do you actively seek out trouble?"

"Since it involves you doing something that's weirder than normal."

"Weirder than normal? I'm hurt, Houtarou."

"You clearly enjoy being different. Or is that fake as well?"

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Satoshi."

"What?" Satoshi's tone was coarser, and Houtarou felt somewhat triumphant in bringing it out from under the layers of disguise.

They had reached the Fukube home. "Can I come in?" Houtarou asked at the door.

Satoshi shrugged, unable to find a legitimate excuse to force his friend away.

They slipped off their shoes quietly. Houtarou didn't know what Satoshi was thinking, but now that he was alone with the brunette, he didn't quite know how to bring up his evidence.

"Houtarou, really, what do you want? You never come here without me asking you at least five times. Is something wrong?"

How did this get turned around on him? How convenient that Satoshi forgot their conversation from just a few minutes before.

"I could ask you the same question," he shot back. For once he chose to be assertive, stepping closer and closer to Satoshi and pressing him against a wall. "You're acting strange, and I'm annoyed that you keep denying it."

Satoshi continued the act, undeterred by being trapped between a wall and Houtarou's body. "I deny it because there really isn't anything wrong."

Houtarou admired his persistence, but it was counterproductive to his purpose. "How long are you going to keep it up?" he growled. "You're normally so careful, but you fell down the stairs. You pricked your fingers in Handicrafts Club when most days you're the only one that didn't get on the wrong side of your needle. I know because you're pretty proud of it whenever it happens. You're exhausted, and I'm sure you sleep in class, and you're constantly thinking about something that sends your mind miles away. Then there's this strange darkness that passes over your face, and suddenly, it's like I'm not looking at you anymore."

"Do you actually have any proof?"

Houtarou retreated half a step, partially because no, he didn't have any solid proof, but also because Satoshi was actually glaring at him with hostile intent and it was decidedly unnerving on the boy's normally docile face.

"I-I don't need proof; it's written all over your face," he stuttered. "If you look in the mirror—"

"That's all just circumstantial evidence—completely subjective. I'm a database; I deal with facts. If you can't give me facts, then we have nothing further to discuss." The smaller boy tried pushing past his taller companion, but Houtarou refused to budge. "Houtarou, move."

"No. Not until you tell me what's wrong."

"I said there's nothing wrong. You're not usually this dense, Houtarou."

"Satoshi—"

Pushing Satoshi hadn't been a good idea; Houtarou had been aware of that from the beginning. He hadn't expected the boy to kick his feet out from under him though. Houtarou didn't even realize he was falling until his back collided with the hardwood floor, knocking the air from his lungs.

As he coughed and spluttered to refill his chest with oxygen, Satoshi towered over him, looking down his nose without a hint of remorse in his eyes for hurting his friend.

"Houtarou, stop looking into other people's affairs. We've been around Chitanda-san too much—she's rubbing off on you. I like you better as a passive energy conservationist."

"You expect me to stop after you sent me crashing to the floor?" Houtarou wheezed, breathing functions not quite back to normal.

Satoshi shrugged. "You were forcing me against a wall. I had every right to do that."

"Whatever—I've had enough of this," Houtarou snarled, getting to his feet. "I don't have nearly enough energy to deal with you. If you want to push me away that badly, then I'll let you—for now."

Satoshi met the other's scowl with one of his own. "Fine. Get out," he spat out, each word filled with venom.

Houtarou put on his shoes without another word. At the door, he glanced back. Satoshi met his gaze, daring him to try coming back in. His hands curled into shaking fists at his sides, and the fire in his eye promised one or both of those fists would come in contact with Houtarou's body if he returned.

In his fury, though, the light-haired teen had failed to maintain his external shell. Houtarou wished he had a camera to capture his so called evidence, to show Satoshi and point out the tired lines under his eyes, the dullness of his irises, the gauntness of his cheeks, the too-white skin.

But he knew the boy would still deny it. So he closed the door behind him, hoping he had simply imagined the fleeting image of tears falling from Satoshi's eyes.

.

.

Houtarou was in a stormy mood the following day. Even his teachers seemed to sense something and avoided calling on him the whole day. He glared out the window for the duration of his lessons, wondering if he could channel the sunny day outside to calm himself down. He never got past wondering though, and ended up stalking up to the clubroom in the same mood he had come to school in.

"What's with you, Oreki?" Mayaka asked immediately upon seeing his tempestuous expression.

"Absolutely nothing," he grumbled, not fooling anyone. "Where's Satoshi?"

"He said he had a headache and went home. Did something happen between you two?"

"Not at all." That was the problem; nothing had happened, and Houtarou was still worried while Satoshi was still in denial.

"Oreki-san looks angry," Chitanda whispered a little too loudly to Mayaka.

"Yeah, I don't think I've ever seen him like this. I wonder what happened. " Mayaka whispered back.

Houtarou ignored them after that, hoping his book would perhaps provide some sort of comfort.

.

.

Houtarou never thought to go to Mayaka or Chitanda. He knew they could have helped, but he didn't want to turn the entire club against Satoshi for fear that the boy would just run away even faster and farther.

Still, he really couldn't ignore it much longer. Satoshi continued avoiding him, although not in the conventional sense. They acted as normal, but Houtarou could feel the emotional distance the smaller boy put between them. Not one single strand of hair was out of place anymore, not one wrinkle present in his uniform, and that pasted-on smile rarely left his face. He was, for all purposes, the normal Satoshi. Houtarou, however, couldn't help but feel he was interacting with a doll, a doll perfect in every way—except that it wasn't real.

Houtarou knew a little bit about dolls though. His sister had owned plenty when she was younger. No matter how careful she had been with them, they always managed to break one way or another. Sometimes it was a small break—the dress got caught on a table corner and tore, or one of the blinking eyes didn't work anymore. Then there were bigger breaks; large fissures appearing on the doll's face from accidentally dropping it, or the entire head of hair falling off because a certain little brother tugged on it one too many times. Therefore, if he simply waited long enough, somewhere along the line Satoshi would break. As much as it pained him, if Satoshi wouldn't let him in, he would force his way in through patience.

Eventually, Satoshi came in through the door of the clubroom with his usual sunny smile on full blast. As soon as he did so, Chitanda perked up, sniffing the air.

"Fukube-san, you smell strange," she commented, wrinkling her nose. "It's almost like metal."

"We were moving a lot of desks around today at the Student Council," Satoshi replied, taking a seat across from her. "I probably still have some of the smell on my hands."

Chitanda appeared thoughtful, as if the answer wasn't enough for her, but then smiled. "It's good that you were helping out like that. It must have been tiring."

"Oh, you have no idea," he said dramatically. "Each desk was a challenge to lift, let alone move. Good thing I'm a pretty strong guy, right?"

Houtarou and Mayaka rolled their eyes while Chitanda seemed amused. "We all thank you for your services," she giggled.

They lapsed into a silence then—since they really had no real objectives and hadn't since the cultural festival—reading their own respective books or finishing homework.

It looked like it was another regular day for the Classics Club. When the clock read five, Chitanda snapped her book shut, saying she was going to go on ahead since she had to help her parents with something or other that Houtarou didn't really understand from the rushed explanation. After she left, more than half an hour passed until Mayaka suggested they leave as well, since they weren't doing anything as it was.

Then the break occurred. If Houtarou had been watching their lives as a movie with different characters, Satoshi probably would have predicted it before hand.

As they all stood up and turned to the door, Satoshi's legs gave out under him, suddenly unable to support his weight, and his entire body crumpled to the floor in a heap, leaving Houtarou and Mayaka still standing, wide-eyed and gaping.

A beat, and the shock wore off, and they were by his side, trying desperately to revive him.

"Fuku-chan, please, wake up!" Mayaka cried to no avail. "Why won't he answer, Oreki?"

"He's out cold," Houtarou grimaced. There was sweat on Satoshi's forehead, his breath came in short gasps, and the sickly pallor had returned. It almost made Houtarou physically ill to think it had come to this.

He caught sight of a shine in the light, a reflection off Satoshi's sleeve. For a moment, he thought it was just the button on the cuff, but it was much too large an area to be a button. Houtarou gingerly put his hand on the boy's wrist, the fabric damp against his skin. He lingered for a moment, refusing to jump to conclusions, before slowly bringing his hand back and turning it to see his palm.

His hand had been dyed red. His fingers shook as he stared at them, unable to comprehend what was going on. Mayaka had the presence of mind to call the hospital, speaking frantically into her cell phone.

The tremors that began in his fingertips quickly spread to Houtarou's whole body. He felt nauseous, his head swimming in vertigo, and his clean hand shot to his mouth to prevent himself from vomiting.

Steeling himself, he carefully pulled up Satoshi's sleeve. All he could see was red. The normally white bandage had been stained with what could only be blood. The wound had to be recent, and Houtarou cringed to think how it had gotten there.

Mayaka was crying. After hanging up the phone, she chose to ignore her general dislike of Houtarou in favor of bodily comfort, leaning into his side and burying her face into his shoulder. Her tears soaked into his uniform, and he could only think about Satoshi's sleeve, soaked in blood.

His hand lay limp at his side, resting on the floor palm up. He didn't want to look at it, covered in blood, but it couldn't stay that way. Even now, he could feel the air of the room circulating around, flitting around his hand and cooling the coat of liquid on it, sending more shivers through his body.

When the paramedics arrived, Houtarou's first thought was how Mayaka deserved an award for being able to give accurate directions to their remote Geology Prep Room while under such stress. Such thoughts were a welcome alternative to thinking about the number of people crowded around his friend's still body, trying to wake him.

"Young man, are you all right?"

Green eyes refocused on the young woman gazing at him with concern. She was slightly older than his sister, likely fresh out of college, and Houtarou would have preferred guessing her life story instead of replying because he had no answer. Was he okay? Was he allowed to not be okay? His best friend was bleeding out on the floor just a few feet away while he himself didn't have a scratch on him. In comparison, he was just peachy.

"Young man?"

"…I don't know."

Her patronizing, sympathetic smile was slightly infuriating. Realizing he was still in shock, she turned her attention to the girl still burrowed into his shoulder. Though puffy-eyed and close to hysterics, Mayaka was much more responsive to the other woman, relieved to have someone to talk to.

Houtarou, on the other hand, didn't want comfort. He felt he didn't deserve it, he who allowed it to get this far. He had seen the signs; why didn't he tell someone? Had he thought it would pass over? Did he have some hero complex that made him think he was enough? Obviously it had been well out of his control, much more dangerous than he had anticipated.

A hand touched his shoulder, waking him from his stupor. Mayaka. She had calmed down considerably, though she still looked about ready to burst into tears again. "Oreki," she sniffed. "They're getting ready to move him. Can you go to the hospital with them? I need to call Fuku-chan's parents and Chii-chan."

That was Mayaka, always reliable, even in times of crisis. It was better this way; if he tried calling even one person, he had no idea how he would break the news.

He nodded. Her lips twitched upwards in what could be called a smile. Houtarou liked it better than the one the young lady was still giving him as she led him out the door after the stretcher. Mayaka's was much less clinical.

It was fortunate that, when Satoshi had fainted, it was at the end of the day when there was only a handful of students to watch as Satoshi was wheeled through the halls and down stairs. The event would surely be mentioned the next day, but at least the spread would be limited.

The rest of the day was a blur, consisting primarily of waiting in white-walled rooms that Houtarou felt guilty for even being in for fear of contaminating the sterility. Even when Mayaka and Chitanda entered the room with Satoshi's parents, no one spoke much, though Houtarou, for one, felt significantly more at ease with his two friends around.

It was quite some time before a doctor saw to them, long enough that Houtarou was sure the sun had gone down long ago despite the lack of a watch or windows.

"Satoshi-kun will be fine," he reassured them all with an amiable smile, one similar to the young female paramedic. "He's lucky he has such good friends that got him help so quickly."

"But why did it happen?" Satoshi's mother asked. Houtarou didn't see much of Satoshi's parents as they both worked, but he knew them both to be lovers of life and perpetually cheerful, much like their son. The idea that any member of the Fukube family was close enough to death to land himself in a hospital was a tragedy in itself.

The smile faded off the doctor's face. "That's what I'd like to talk about," he explained. "Has Satoshi-kun had any troubles at home or at school?"

All five people present shook their heads. "Satoshi has always been a happy child," his father replied. "He's never been trouble at home."

"Most people like him at school," Mayaka remarked, "and those that don't simply keep their distance."

"I have reason to believe the issue is internal," Houtarou said quietly. The others all turned to him.

"What do you mean?" the doctor asked.

"I don't know how many people noticed, but Satoshi has been acting strange for the past couple of months. He's withdrawn and distant, yet still keeping up appearances. It's an odd duality that even I, as one who noticed it for what it was in the first place, had trouble wrapping my head around it."

"You knew this and you didn't tell us?" Mayaka asked softly, sounding hurt.

"I wasn't sure if I was looking at the ghost or the withered grass in the wind."

Satoshi's mother patted him gently on the shoulder. "You had no way of knowing, Houtarou-kun."

"Excuse me, but what happened to Fukube-san?" Chitanda cut in.

Mayaka bit her lip and looked away. Houtarou closed his eyes, not willing to deal with naivety that was out of his control. The Fukube couple sent twin looks of sorrow at the doctor. Chitanda was the only one still in the dark.

"The reason Satoshi-kun collapsed was due to blood loss from a series of cuts on his wrist." The doctor took a deep breath before continuing, "This isn't the first time his wrist has been cut. There are numerous scars running all along his forearm, some fairly old, others recent, and I'm almost completely certain they are all self-inflicted."

Though most of them had reached the same conclusion, knowing hadn't softened the blow. Satoshi's father barely had time to catch his wife as she fell into him, body convulsing with sobs. He clutched her tight, knuckles white from the effort of supporting her and holding back his own tears.

The children's eyes, however, were dry. Chitanda was clearly having trouble understanding what she had just been told, the shock of the news striking her all the way down to her nerves and leaving her still as a statue. Mayaka appeared ready to break down, but no tears fell. Perhaps she had run out.

Houtarou was never one to cry. Crying wasted such an unnecessary amount of energy and did nothing to relieve his stress. Still, the sheer amount of grief permeating through the room tugged at even Houtarou's heart. He scowled, shoving down the urge to lose control. Instead, a numbness spread throughout his body. If he couldn't feel, then it wouldn't hurt him inside or out.

"Let me see him," he barked out harshly. He hadn't meant to make it sound like an order, but he really couldn't care.

"He's still unconscious," the doctor informed him, but led the way out of the door and down the hall anyway.

The room, like all the rest Houtarou supposed, was unbearably white. Houtarou knew that, if he were awake, Satoshi would hate it. White had never suited him—after all, white was a complete absence of color, and Satoshi was colorful by nature.

Houtarou hoped that would never change.

The stricken boy looked like he just happened to be sleeping in a hospital bed. However, flashes of those terrifying moments in the clubroom reminded Houtarou of reality. Now that he was here though, he didn't have a plan for what he actually wanted to do.

"Oreki?" Mayaka had followed and dragged along Chitanda, who was just starting to react to what was going on.

"I'm going to wait for him to wake up," Houtarou stated suddenly. His words were clear and strong, leaving no room for disagreement.

"Chii-chan's really upset, but once I calm her down—"

"I don't want anyone else to be around when he wakes up."

"What? That's stupid, Oreki; we all need to be there for him—"

"I need to speak to him alone," Houtarou insisted. "I can't let him escape."

Mayaka raised a questioning eyebrow. "I don't think he'll be able to go anywhere for a while. It's more important that we reassure him that we're all here for him."

Houtarou shook his head. "You don't understand—he already knows we're here for him. We see each other every day, and we've expressed on multiple occasions our concern for him. If he had wanted our help, he could have gotten it a long time ago. I have to talk to him while he's vulnerable and that damned mask isn't around."

"That's a horrible idea; you'll hurt him!"

"But it's the only way." In a rare display of tenderness, Houtarou approached the bed and let his hand rest on top of Satoshi's. "I think Satoshi thought he could handle…whatever this was all by himself. Clearly that isn't the case. I've already tried confronting him once. I hope this time he'll actually listen to me and tell me what's wrong."

The smallest member of their club clearly still had reservations, but they died in the face of Houtarou's apparent determination. "I'll go tell everyone your plan and keep them out. I just hope you know what you're doing."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to fans of the girls, because they barely show up in this chapter. I like them just as much as the boys, and their interactions with the other two are great. I'll try to include them more.

Houtarou knew he was in for a long wait, so he allowed the rest of their party to come in briefly to see Satoshi's motionless body. Then, besides the occasional nurse, the two boys were alone.

Naturally, the room was quiet. Houtarou wasn't the type to fill the space with useless, one-sided chatter—that was what Satoshi was for, and he was unconscious—so he was perfectly at home in the silence. However, he didn't have much to do; he hadn't really known he would be camping out in a hospital for so many hours, and, in the confusion of Satoshi's fainting spell, he had forgotten his bag and Mayaka hadn't brought it with her.

Thus, Houtarou occupied his time with a mystery: Satoshi. Though everyone was entitled to his own secrets, this particular one was more trouble than it was worth.

He tried to think of the first time his friend had acted strangely—the Juumonji incident? During the case with the movie? Self-deprecation had been apparent for a while, but it hadn't seemed a malignant trait—more a show of humility than low confidence, especially since Satoshi had never lacked confidence since the moment they'd met. In fact, his nearly flawless performance was a testament to that—he wouldn't have fooled his three best friends so easily if he hadn't been completely confident in himself and his abilities, perhaps even to the point of fooling himself. Then again, Satoshi had drifted in and out of his persona unconsciously, an obvious display of instability. That was likely what led to Satoshi's collapse.

Houtarou glanced at the new, clean bandage wrapped around his friend's arm. He wished he had ripped the goddamned strip of fabric off Satoshi's wrist the first time he had seen it. It appeared so innocuous, what with its pure white color; there was no sign it concealed the deep scars on his skin, as well as those on his heart.

Despite his famed deductive skills, Houtarou couldn't fathom what would push Satoshi to such lengths. Satoshi was living a rose-colored life, the pinnacle of fulfillment in high school. Then again, was it always so rose-colored? Had he really enjoyed it all? Or was he like Sekitani Jun, whose rose-colored high school career became too rosy and burned? Like the first night, he racked his brain for solutions to the endless questions, but he couldn't find even one, and the questions kept coming.

As if to answer his prayers, Satoshi's hand, which was still grasped loosely within Houtarou's fingers, twitched slightly, and the boy stirred, groaning as the light above hit his eyes after so long asleep.

He blinked several times as his mind adjusted to being awake. Even in his semiconscious state, he recognized Houtarou enough to give him a sleepy grin.

"Hey, Houtarou, looks like I fell asleep. What time is it? And…where are we?" The last words came out stunted as he realized he was no longer in the club room.

"You're in the hospital," Houtarou replied bluntly. "You fainted in the clubroom."

Satoshi's grin quickly disappeared. "Oh, I guess I was really tired. I'll take better care of myse—"

"We know about the cuts, Satoshi," Houtarou interrupted softly. He instantly wanted to take his words back as Satoshi's eyes glazed over, becoming blank discs of color. It had been too soon, but there was no going back. "We know, but we don't understand; why?"

"It's none of your goddamn business." Realizing their hands were linked, Satoshi snatched his away and gripped the sheets instead.

"It's been my business since you collapsed at my feet—no, it's been my business since you got involved with me in middle school and became my friend."

Satoshi seemed to want to argue, but couldn't. "Where are the others?" he asked instead.

"I'm not entirely sure," Houtarou answered honestly. "I asked them to wait outside. Everyone's very worried; your parents are here, too."

Satoshi cursed under his breath. "…I really messed up, didn't I?"

"I don't know. Did you?"

"Can you stop being enigmatic? You wanted to get me alone, didn't you?"

"But I can't do anything if you won't tell me anything."

"You won't even pass judgment? Even you have opinions."

"What do you want me to do? Be angry? Scold you? Cry? My opinion doesn't matter; what matters is that you're hurt and I want to help. I've wanted to help for a while now, if you haven't noticed. Getting angry, shouting, pretending it hadn't happened—those won't help. Besides, it wastes energy that is better spent trying to pry out what's wrong."

Satoshi stared at him, dumbfounded. He tried to paste a smile onto his face, but it was crooked and immediately washed off by his tears. "Why?" he asked, voice stifled by sobs. "Why is it that, after everything, you're still…" He didn't finish, leaving Houtarou wondering.

The hazel-eyed boy brought his hands to cover his face, trying his best to halt the stream of tears and the sobs. Then, he noticed the clean bandage, that unassuming strip of fabric Houtarou had been glaring daggers at for hours before. It must have sparked something in him because he was suddenly tearing at the binding, nails searching for gaps.

"Hey, what are you doing?!" Houtarou exclaimed. Raising his voice had no effect on Satoshi though, and a red spot began blooming across the cloth. "Satoshi, stop!" He grabbed the other's hands, separating them and forcing Satoshi to look at him. The boy's expression was so raw that Houtarou nearly let go in surprise. Instead, he held on tighter.

"L-let go, Houtarou," Satoshi whimpered, his body shaking under the effort of keeping his emotions in check.

"No," Houtarou said firmly.

"Please."

Houtarou didn't move. "If you want, I'll take them off for you," he suggested gently, "but I'm not letting you touch them anymore; if you haven't noticed, you're bleeding again."

Judging by Satoshi's incredulous look and how his eyes darted to the rapidly spreading stain on the bandage, he had not. The tension left his arms, which was likely as much consent as Houtarou was going to get.

As he skimmed over the bandage trying to find where the strips ended, he attempted once more to solve the mystery that was Satoshi. "Why did you do that?"

Satoshi turned his head away. Houtarou sighed. Well that was a failure. He tried a different approach. "Are you okay? You just woke up after losing a whole lot of blood, and now you're bleeding again."

"I'm fine."

Houtarou wanted to say, "No, you're not fine. If you were fine, you wouldn't be in the hospital." Instead, he simply accepted that Satoshi was a chronic liar—though a few months before, he was better classified as a practical joker—and left it at that.

Once he was done unwrapping the bandage, Houtarou felt somewhat proud of himself for stopping his gasp. Countless lines of damaged skin decorated Satoshi's arm in an unrecognizable pattern. Some were barely a centimeter long, while others were much longer. More disturbing were the various conditions the cuts were in; some had long since healed, but others were clearly recent, only covered by a thin scab. One particular scar ran diagonally from his wrist to close to his elbow, and Houtarou was curious to how Satoshi managed to stay out of the hospital with that one. The ones that had landed them in this situation were spread out along his forearm, five steady, horizontal cuts that were only an inch or two long, but noticeably deep, if the way the skin puckered around the stitches was any indication. One gash had broken free of the stitches near the edges, and a thin rivulet of blood sprung from it, which Houtarou wiped off with the used bandage.

Satoshi refused to look at him while Houtarou examined his arm, and even after his friend was done, his gaze remained fixed on the wall.

"Satoshi…" Houtarou wasn't sure how to proceed from here. Satoshi's arms were thin, even more so since he wasn't taking care of himself, and the boy was fairly small to begin with. Houtarou hadn't quite expected such total destruction on such a small area. The question arose once more: why?

Houtarou's fingers unconsciously ghosted over the long diagonal cut, causing Satoshi to flinch. As if burned, they both recoiled immediately. Satoshi went so far as to try hiding his arm from sight—as much good as that would do—but Houtarou stopped him.

"Satoshi," Houtarou said firmly, "I think I've been pretty patient with you. Don't you think it's about time you stopped hiding?"

The other continued to look at him emotionlessly, but Houtarou was determined to break through this time. "It's just me here, and if you really want me to, I won't say anything to anyone."

Satoshi bit his bottom lip, clearly debating his decision in his head. He was silent for a long time, so long that Houtarou thought he wouldn't say anything at all anymore. Then, he sighed.

"Houtarou, do you think there's something that only you can do?"

Green eyes widened, remembering their conversation during the summer.

"You clearly have talent," Satoshi continued. "Deductive reasoning is a rare skill, and can be applied to anything. Even if you have no ambition, you can be anything you want to be."

His voice grew quieter and quieter, as if it wanted to disappear altogether, and Houtarou had to strain to hear more. "I envy you. As much as I try, I can't be extraordinary like you."

"I'm not extraordinary," Houtarou insisted.

"No, you are completely extraordinary, while I'm just ordinary. The ordinary and extraordinary shouldn't be allowed to mix. I have no right hanging around you."

"Now hold it—"

"Don't you see? I add nothing to our relationship. A database is easily found elsewhere; you have no need for me."

Houtarou held up a hand to stop him before he could continue. "Let me get this straight—you're hurting yourself because you feel inadequate?"

"Not exactly…" Satoshi had his sheets in his hands, and somehow his grip tightened. "My point is that I have no talents for anything, nor do I have any dreams. It's not just you; what use do I have to anyone or anything in the entire world? But it's so much more striking when I'm with you because…well…"

He trailed off, leaving Houtarou wondering once more. What did he want to say?

Swallowing, Satoshi started a slightly different train of thought. "I'm not entirely sure when it started. I just remember being with you and the girls and suddenly thinking, 'What am I doing here?' I didn't feel like I belonged anymore. You all have purposes. You all have talents; you all have dreams. You're all bubbling over with life, while I have such a hollow existence. I couldn't laugh, I couldn't smile, I couldn't be happy with you guys because it didn't seem right for me to even be living alongside you all. I'm a waste of space and energy, and I just wanted to disappear."

His eyes were watery, and as he went on, the tears spilled over. "But everyone cared!" he exclaimed as if it was the most unfathomable idea on Earth. "I couldn't understand it, and there was no reason for you all to be unhappy on my account. I've dabbled in acting long enough to put on a decent charade, and eventually, it became so easy to act as though I wasn't disgusted with myself while I was around everybody. I thought I could maybe live like this for a while, for Chitanda-san and Mayaka and you."

Unconsciously, he massaged his scarred arm with his good hand. "It's hard to fool yourself though," he said with a bitter smile. "You all care, and I can channel that enough to get by while I'm with you, but when there's no one around and I see myself in the mirror, I don't see anything redeeming. I don't deserve to be with you, and so I think I should be punished for even breathing your air."

His index finger traced over the scars, lingering on the stitched up cuts and tugging on them lightly as if he wanted to pull them out. "It helped," he admitted. "It was painful, but it felt like it made things a little more okay. The first time was scary, so I barely broke skin. It was like a paper cut, but it worked—I felt normal being around everyone. Then I couldn't feel the little nicks; they had to be longer, deeper, in order for them to have any sort of effect. I couldn't mark both of my arms though, as I would surely be noticed. If it was my dominant arm, I'd use it a lot and prolong the normalcy as much as possible.

"By the time I realized exactly what I was doing to myself, it had become an addiction. I couldn't stop. That's where this one came from." He pointed to the longest of the scars, the one that spanned his entire arm. "I intended to kill myself because I couldn't stop but couldn't quite go through with it. As soon as I had done it, I was so scared that I immediately dunked my arm in cold water and wrapped it up as tight as I could. Stupid, right? I can't even die correctly."

"It's not stupid," Houtarou assured him, fighting down the fear and nausea that came with each of Satoshi's words.

"No, it's stupid," Satoshi said. "That particular time, I lost enough blood to feel light-headed, even though I treated it so quickly. I fainted on my bed, and when I didn't wake up for breakfast, my mother came to get me. I don't remember much besides being too dizzy to stand. I surely looked as bad as I felt, since my parents called the school and let me go back to sleep. Those days were really hazy. Thankfully, I was wearing long sleeves; I was too out of it to think about hiding. Neither of my parents figured it out, though I guess that isn't the case now. That's why I was absent for those four days; I was recovering from a suicide attempt."

Houtarou felt bile rise in his throat, and it was all he could do to swallow it back down. Satoshi hurting himself on purpose was one thing; purposely trying to kill himself was another.

"That's when you started getting suspicious," Satoshi said. "I didn't know what to do. You were suddenly watching me too closely. I knew if I didn't do something, you would figure everything out, and I didn't want you to see this ugly side of myself. I wanted us all to be normal, to live as normally as we could with my twisted self. I tried improving my charade, until I really didn't know where I ended and the fake me began. It just added to that downward spiral until I ended up cutting myself open for the first time at school. I guess I went too deep or made too many, because the next thing I knew, I was here."

Satoshi looked small and fragile now, pale and tired. "Houtarou, I don't know who I am anymore. I can't put any value on myself, and it's all made worse because everyone's involved now. It sickens me that they're all worried about someone who's worthless."

"All right, I've had enough," Houtarou interrupted, trying his best to keep his voice level as he fought down the urge to be sick. "How did you think up all this? You can't decide your own worth; it's decided by those around you, and you are by no means worthless."

"Do you have any proof?" Oh, not this again.

"Why can't you just take my word for it?" Houtarou grumbled.

"See, you can't even think of something, and you're my best friend." Oddly enough, during his monologue, Satoshi had been refreshingly expressive, but now he was regressing back into his doll-like state. He started fiddling with the many wires connected to him, pulling on them and twisting them into loops.

"It's hard to explain!" Houtarou said quickly. There was no way he would let Satoshi relapse. "You…you're an amazing person, Satoshi."

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not. Ask Ibara or Chitanda and they'll say the same thing. You are an amazing person. People aren't made by their talents; they're made by the efforts they put into life. You have a lot of energy; I noticed that the first time we met. And unlike some people, you actually put your energy to use, be it in the way you over-exaggerate your reactions or researching the many things that interest you. You know a lot of things that most people wouldn't bother to look into, let alone remember. Even if the information is available, people have to read it or else it's useless."

"But if most people don't want to listen to me or bother remembering what I say, then doesn't that make me useless?"

Houtarou winced. Not the reaction he was going for. "We listen to you. We remember. Isn't that enough? You've been instrumental in the various mysteries we've solved, and you're always happy, or at least that's what we thought. Your happiness makes us happy, so we want to do the same."

"Your happiness makes me happy," Satoshi said quietly.

Houtarou's words came out clipped and curt; he was starting to lose patience. "Then why do you insist on making us unhappy?"

Satoshi flinched. "At a certain point, your happiness wasn't enough. Empathy can only go so far, Houtarou. I needed something more, to feel something more."

"So you decided a blade was more important than your friends."

"That's not what I'm saying!" Satoshi grabbed Houtarou's shirt, fisting the fabric so tightly Houtarou worried it would tear from pressure alone. His eyes took on a crazed gleam, a hint of hysteria jumping into his voice. "You have no idea how I feel. You have no idea because I can't feel. My body turned numb a long time ago. It was the only way…"

Houtarou brought his hands up, curling his fingers around the other's hands and gingerly pulling them off. "I want to help," he whispered. Satoshi heard it despite the low volume, halting his spiel. "Tell me how to help you."

Houtarou's stomach fell as the tiny light in Satoshi's eyes died and an emotionless smile spread across his face.

"I'm beyond help."

The complete emptiness in Satoshi's voice shook Houtarou down to his core. He wanted to contradict him, to say, "You're wrong! No one is beyond help!" and use up all his energy to somehow knock some sense into his friend. But he felt as if a void had opened up, swallowing his feelings and efforts. He really didn't know what he was doing—he hoped Mayaka wouldn't find out.

Struggling to pull his determination back from the abyss, Houtarou grabbed the glass placed by Satoshi's bedside. "Are you thirsty?" he asked weakly. "Have you even been eating? Or sleeping, for that matter?"

Satoshi stared at the glass as if he didn't know what it was used for. "I don't want anything," he replied.

Houtarou went to the sink anyway; Satoshi's voice had cracked, sounding too raspy to be good.

He let the faucet run for a few moments too long, the cool water clearing the top of the glass and washing over his hand. The sensation allowed him to gather his thoughts back together and prepare for another round.

How could he help someone who was so obviously broken? The pieces that made up Satoshi had been ground to dust without him realizing, and as of right now, there was no foreseeable way to repair the boy.

Then again, Houtarou was supposed to be extraordinary, wasn't he?

Twisting the tap off, he returned to Satoshi's side. "Drink," he encouraged, handing the glass to the other. Satoshi sipped it carefully, as if testing it for poison. "You've been honest with me up to this point, so answer me honestly—have you been eating and sleeping properly?"

Satoshi kept the glass on his lips as he contemplated how to respond. "I try," he said eventually. "I eat with my parents, but if there's no one around, I have no appetite. I can't sleep most nights, so whenever I happen to pass out is when I sleep."

"Why aren't you eating or sleeping?"

"Like I said, I don't have an appetite, so I forget. As for sleeping…"

"Do you have nightmares?" Houtarou tried.

Satoshi shook his head. "That would involve falling asleep in the first place. I'm so absorbed in my thoughts that I don't feel tired, I don't feel time passing. I simply don't feel, and I don't notice the effects on my body until I unknowingly fall asleep. It's a little different from the usual numbness, though, so thinking can be nice." His eyes took on a faraway glaze. "The mind is a fascinating place, Houtarou. You can get lost in it so easily."

But can you find yourself again as easily? Houtarou thought to himself. "What do you think about?"

"Myself and my place in the world; you, Chitanda-san, Mayaka and lots of other things. Though, there are some days I think about nothing at all. I like those best, since there's less of a chance of hurting myself with my thoughts."

Green eyes narrowed. "Are there any instances where you don't hurt yourself?"

"Not really. Not all of them are intentional though."

Houtarou ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "You can't possibly enjoy that."

"I don't."

"Then why do you do it?"

"The same reason smokers smoke; they just can't stop."

"Then let me help you kick the addiction."

Satoshi blinked. "Why?"

"Why do you have to ask? I'm your friend, and, in case you've forgotten how friendship works, I care."

"Like I said, I'm beyond help."

"I don't believe you."

"You're not usually so stubborn."

"Well, you just bring out a different side of me."

"I thought that was Chitanda-san's job."

"You can do it too."

"Why are you still wasting energy on me?"

"Well aren't you wasting energy in your depression? And you're not getting nearly enough back what with skipping meals and not sleeping. Let's just say I decided to waste some energy of my own."

"Why?"

"Satoshi, we're running around in circles. It makes me happy, so let me do it."

"You're openly saying what makes you happy; another oddity."

"You just bring out a different side of me," Houtarou repeated. He took a deep breath. "Listen, Satoshi, I want to make you happy. I don't want to relive your collapse. If this is the result of our negligence, then I want to fix it because you're my friend. I don't know how I'll do it, or how long it will take, but I want to make you happy, if only you'll let me."

Satoshi laughed mirthlessly, a disconcerting sound bordering on insanity. "I don't think I have that capability anymore."

"I still want to try."

"Go ahead." Satoshi smirked slightly, and Houtarou thought he could see remnants of the old Satoshi in it. "Is this one of those things you have to do?"

"Perhaps," Houtarou shrugged, "but it's also something I want to do."

And he would succeed. Satoshi was still in there somewhere, and Houtarou would bring him back at all costs.

Satoshi's eyelids began to droop, his head lolling to the side sleepily.

"You should rest," Houtarou suggested.

"I don't want to," Satoshi mumbled, his voice laced with exhaustion and punctuated with a yawn.

"You might as well; it doesn't sound like you can fight it any longer."

"I think I'll be okay."

"I don't. It's been a long day; you need sleep."

"…Okay," The hazel-eyed boy gave in, too tired to effectively argue anymore. "Will you still be here when I wake up?"

The question was so quiet, so frighteningly delicate, Houtarou felt he could break it—and Satoshi—at any moment. How could he say no? "I'll try. I might step out for a moment, but I'll be back."

Satoshi hummed in acknowledgement, eyes already shut. Soon, his breath evened out and he was sound asleep.

Houtarou took that opportunity to step out of the room to give everyone an update. Or at least, that was what he planned, except as soon as he left the room, the tension left his body and he was hit with the reality of what he had just listened to and experienced. As the door to Satoshi's room closed, he fell against it and slid down to the floor.

Despite the late hour, Mayaka and the rest were still there, waiting outside on a bench. Once Houtarou stumbled out of the room, they all rushed to see him, slowing only when they took in his defeated posture.

"Oreki, what happened in there?" Mayaka asked tentatively. "You were in there a long time, and we heard some shouting, though we couldn't understand it."

"Satoshi woke up for a while, and we talked," Houtarou reported softly. "He went back to sleep though."

"Do you know why he…did what he did?" Chitanda asked quietly.

"You make it sound like a criminal offense," Houtarou chided.

Chitanda tried again. "Is he all right?"

A shadow passed over Houtarou's features. "…No, he's not," he said bluntly, unable to say it any other way. "He's severely depressed. I…I can't tell you the details—it's better he do that himself, even if it'll take a while—but he's close to killing himself, both intentionally and unconsciously."

The edges of Chitanda's eyes were swollen with unshed tears, but she held them at bay and instead asked, "Are you all right, Oreki-san?"

He stared into her large, sparkling eyes, eyes overflowing with concern and good intentions. "He said he was beyond help," he admitted, voice trembling slightly under the strain of the day. "For a moment, I believed him. How did all this happen? Why did it happen? How could we let it happen? He's so completely broken—I want to help him, but I'm not sure if I can or if he'd let me."

No one could answer him.

Houtarou closed his eyes briefly, breathing deeply and calming himself down. "Still, I'm going to try. I'm going to try to help him the best I can, and I need everyone's help."

"Of course we'll help," Mayaka said immediately.

"Fukube-san is our friend," Chitanda added. "He's helped us smile so often, so we should do the same."

Houtarou nodded. "I'm going to stay with him as long as I can. Visit whenever you like; just know I'll be there. Just don't overwhelm him."

"You look like you could use some rest of your own, Houtarou-kun," Satoshi's mother observed. "Why don't you go home and get some sleep?"

"I always look like this," Houtarou replied plainly, getting up off the floor. "Besides, Satoshi needs me to stay. I promised I'd be there when he woke up again."

Both of the Fukubes smiled at him, rather brightly considering their situation. "Satoshi's so lucky to have a friend like you."

"I'm lucky to have Satoshi." He put a hand on the doorknob, preparing to return to his station at Satoshi's bedside. "Chitanda, Ibara, I likely won't go to school tomorrow. Can you guys run damage control?"

"We'll do our best," Chitanda answered energetically, holding up a fist to emphasize her point.

"Thanks. Sorry I didn't mention my suspicions sooner; we might have avoided this."

"Don't worry, Oreki," Mayaka assured him. "It wouldn't have changed much, I don't think; Fuku-chan is good at hiding things, so we probably wouldn't have believed you."

Houtarou wasn't reassured at all, but he gave her credit for trying.

"Be sure to get some rest, Houtarou-kun," Satoshi's father said. "Thank you for all that you've done for Satoshi. Please continue to watch over him."

Houtarou nodded, trying his best to smile at them. He walked back into the too-white room, plopping himself back down on the chair next to the bed.

Damn, he was tired.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about Zeno's paradoxes—they've all been essentially refuted by this point, but I like the idea behind them for the sake of this fic. After all, these two are just high school students, so it's not that unlikely that they're misinformed. Also, Satoshi really did write about Zeno's paradoxes in 'Hyouka.' One of the things the anime left out (because it really isn't that relevant) =w=

The next thing Houtarou knew, he was bent over the side of the bed, arms crossed, head nestled inside them staring up towards Satoshi's head. He must have fallen asleep and for quite some time, judging by the painful crick in his spine.

Satoshi was awake, staring off into space much like he usually did in the clubroom, though now Houtarou knew it was dangerous to leave him to his thoughts for too long. Would all of Satoshi's mannerism be corrupted by recent events? Houtarou tried not to think about it.

Houtarou cringed as he sat up. His muscles protested every movement after such a great amount of time. Somehow ignoring them, he stretched, the movement catching Satoshi's attention. The brunette watched as Houtarou worked out the kinks in his body.

"Did you sleep well?" Satoshi queried once the taller boy settled down.

"I didn't even realize I had fallen asleep," Houtarou yawned. "Did you sleep well?"

Satoshi shrugged. "Decently, I suppose."

Houtarou frowned. "How long is 'decently?'"

"More than I usually do, if that makes you happy."

"It's a start."

They lapsed into silence. Satoshi was unable to keep his hands still, fiddling with the wires connected to him and tugging on the new bandage wrapped around his arm. A nurse must have come in and redone it.

"Stop playing with that," Houtarou ordered, indicating the bandage. "You'll just open it up like you did yesterday."

Satoshi's eyes widened, as if he hadn't even realized what he was doing. "Right…" he said quietly, separating his hands and fisting his sheets instead.

They both went quiet again. Houtarou stayed true to himself and refused to make small talk. Besides, the only thing he could think about at the moment was Satoshi—the way he was supposed to act, the way he was acting instead, all the problems that had led to this—and inevitably his thoughts turned to Satoshi laying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. He chastised himself for the morbid thoughts; that wasn't exactly how the scene had played out in reality, and he was no help to Satoshi if he was practically killing him off in his mind. In any case, Satoshi could just as easily break the silence; his vocal chords weren't injured.

The other did not disappoint. "Isn't today a school day? Shouldn't you be there?"

"I promised you I would be here. I can skip every once in a while."

Satoshi turned away, biting his lip with a sorrowful expression on his face.

Houtarou couldn't stop himself from frowning. "I thought you'd be at least a little happy that I stayed."

Satoshi made a short sound that could be considered chuckling, though it sounded more like a cough. "Didn't I tell you? I don't think I have the ability to be happy anymore."

"It's only because you won't let yourself be happy anymore. No one will be upset if you're happy—I didn't think you cared much for others' opinions anyway. At least try to enjoy yourself; that'd be more like you."

"How is that more like me?" Satoshi had an expression of genuine confusion on his face, which made Houtarou concerned.

"You love life, don't you?"

"Why are you asking me? And you say you listen to me. I don't know who I am." Satoshi's tone contained no malice, but Houtarou winced none the less. He had to be more careful.

"I listen. I'm just ignoring things that aren't entirely true."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"No, just misinformed." Satoshi had been lying to them for a while about his happiness, but that was beside the point. "You know your name—isn't that enough?"

"A name doesn't define who I am," Satoshi argued.

"Really? I think it does," Houtarou countered. "After all, despite all the changes our characters go through, physically and mentally, we will continue to identify ourselves by our names. You will always be Satoshi, whether you are as you are now or as you were before."

Satoshi was momentarily struck speechless, unable to refute Houtarou's claim. "That may be true," he said softly, "but that doesn't change the fact that I have no defining character. I may have a name, but I don't have a true identity as a human being."

"Then we'll make you a new one," Houtarou stated firmly, "together."

Satoshi was speechless once more, staring holes into Houtarou's clothing.

Under the intensity of the gaze, Houtarou faltered. "Uh, I mean you can't actually make a new personality, but your personality is created from your interactions with others," he clarified. "So, you're stuck with us until you're comfortable with whatever character you decide suits you best. Just don't hide from us; give us the true you with no strings attached. Even if you don't understand yourself, we'll accept you, fumbling and all."

As green met hazel, the latter filled with saline. "How do you always know what to say? I can never find a flaw in your reasoning."

"Didn't you find one in the Hongou mystery?"

"That wasn't a flaw; your analysis was perfect. It just didn't fit all the parameters of the situation. The rope, Holmes as the background, and Hongou herself were separate from the movie scenario. Given the clues you had from the movie alone, you did spectacularly."

"It was still an oversight. My reasoning is never flawless."

"The problem is that it is to me," Satoshi grumbled. "I try hard to find something, anything out of place in your deductions, but I'm unsuccessful every time. You find the holes easier than I can, and you're not even looking for them. It's not like I'm trying to point out your faults, but you're just…"

As he had the night before, he stopped short before the end of his thought. Tears cascaded freely down his cheeks now, and he ground his arm into mattress.

"Can you finish your sentence?" Houtarou demanded. "You've cut yourself off several times now, even though I told you to be completely honest with me. You're holding something back, and I want to know what it is. And what the hell are you doing with your arm?" He grabbed Satoshi's arm, ignoring how the other struggled to break free. "Come on, answer me."

Satoshi pursed his lips. "It hurts," he said simply.

"Is that the end of your sentence or is that why you were digging your arm into your bed?"

"The second one."

"Okay, now finish the first one."

Satoshi's eyes went down to the hand in his lap. "You're just…"

"What?"

"You're just…perfect."

Out of the possible endings to that sentence, Houtarou had not been expecting that one. "'Perfect?' How am I perfect?"

"You notice everything and remember it, and you're intelligent enough to bring it all together when it's needed, so you always know what to say. Even now, you're being the perfect best friend. And then there's the fact that your reasoning is perfect as well."

Houtarou scratched his head in disbelief. "There is no way I'm perfect. I make it a point to save energy, even if it means I use people to do things I ought to do myself. I'm the most average scorer on tests and my social life ends when my time with you ends. I don't have any particular hobbies, and I don't participate in any sports or clubs besides the Classics Club, and we don't even do anything."

"Well, there really isn't such a thing as true perfection," Satoshi admitted, "but the acceptable substitute is someone with realistic flaws that really aren't flaws at all. When I think of how you use people, it's really just you being resourceful, and you ask their permission before hand—most of the time, anyway. Your energy-saving mentality is actually very clever, and it's probably a better way to live life. There is nothing wrong with being average; I actually admire that you embrace that so readily. It's what drew me to you; I can't do that. I'm here now because of my inability to accept my ordinariness. And not everyone needs to be in a club or sport; there needs to be an audience after all."

"I won't accept that. I am in no way perfect, and I wish you would get it out of your head that I am."

"Whether you are or you aren't, you're perfect to me."

Houtarou's brow creased in confusion. "Do you understand how that doesn't make sense?"

Satoshi shook his head. "It makes sense. Flaws and all, I accept you. To me, even your flaws add to your perfection. Flaws make you human; it makes me think that perhaps there's hope that I might be able to be talented like you, even if I'm ordinary right now."

"Why would you want to be like me?" Houtarou asked. "You can't be me because only I can be me, just like how only you can be Satoshi."

Satoshi grinned, a plastic sort of look that Houtarou wanted to rip right off his friend's face. "I can dream though, can't I?"

"While I don't really approve, didn't you say you didn't have dreams?"

"I guess I should amend that. I have dreams; I've simply given up on them."

"Why would you do that? Aren't dreams supposed to be near unrealizable?" Houtarou was a little tired of always asking questions, but Satoshi was simply an unsolvable case that required such endless questions.

"I suppose, but like you said, I can't be you. My dream is impossible; therefore, there is no point in even trying."

"Then make a new dream," Houtarou suggested. "Dreams aren't static. You can shape them to be whatever you want, so if one isn't possible, push it to the back of your mind and make a new one that is possible. Don't forget about it—what's impossible now may be possible in the future—but don't be so inflexible that you won't bother changing something that's currently out of your means."

Satoshi opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. He settled for prying his arm out of Houtarou's grasp and rolling his wrist, looking away.

Houtarou didn't want to speak anymore. He had used up quite a bit of his energy stores saying things that needed to be said but shouldn't have to be said, which was more exhausting because he had to put things taken for granted into words. He got up and grabbed two cups, filling them both with water and bringing them back to Satoshi. Satoshi only turned farther away from the offered drink.

"It hurts."

Houtarou stopped mid-sip, almost forgetting to swallow. "What hurts?" he asked worriedly.

"Being unable to feel as an equal with your best friend."

Houtarou's shoulders slumped. No matter what he did, Satoshi would not be convinced that he was truly special, worthy of being his friend.

"What do I have to do?" Houtarou whispered, shocking Satoshi with his dispirited tone, which was heavier than his usual lazy drawl. "Where did I go wrong? Why won't you understand my feelings?"

"You won't understand mine," Satoshi replied lamely.

"Well that makes us equals then," Houtarou murmured humorlessly. "But we're both getting nowhere. I'm obviously not helping you as much as I'd like to, and you're not getting anywhere near a knife as long as I'm around. One of us has to give, and it certainly isn't going to be me."

Houtarou ignored the flash of hurt and guilt across Satoshi's visage at his mention of a knife, too wrapped up in his indignation to really care. All this tiptoeing around was exhausting, and he just wanted it to end, or at least make even a millimeter of progress. Satoshi had admitted he was right on several occasions today, but he still seemed reluctant to accept these truths and the idea of Houtarou being right seemed to do more harm than good. Houtarou could feel himself going mildly insane dealing with this boy.

"Do you know about Zeno's paradoxes, Houtarou?"

He did not, and said as such before remembering a particular afternoon in the Classics Club. "Weren't those what you wrote about for our anthology?"

Satoshi nodded. "Zeno was a Greek philosopher who believed plurality and motion are an illusion, though a good portion of his theories were either a reiteration of a previous theory or refuted by another philosopher."

His finger waggled in the air, as it usually did when he shared information—old habits never die. "One is called Achilles and the Tortoise. Achilles and the Tortoise raced each other, but Achilles decided to give the Tortoise a hundred meter head start. The thing is, because they didn't start on equal terms, though Achilles is in theory the faster runner, he can never surpass the Tortoise. The Tortoise is so far ahead, so Achilles first has to get to the point from whence the Tortoise started, and by then the Tortoise will be x amount of meters ahead of him, and Achilles will have to get to that point and the Tortoise will have already moved on, and so forth. Since there are an infinite number of points that Achilles has to reach before overtaking the Tortoise, it is impossible for him to do so."

"Is that bit of trivia relevant?" Houtarou asked.

"When we first met, I believed we were on generally equal ground, but you're like the Tortoise; I unintentionally gave you a head start, and as a result, I'll never catch up to you."

"But if we look at it realistically, Achilles just has to run faster. The same applies to you."

"But if there are so many points I have to reach, it's impossible, isn't it? Motion is an illusion."

"But the beauty of an illusion is its ability to trick and satisfy the brain. If you believe motion is possible, it is possible. If you don't, you won't move at all from the spot you're in right now."

Satoshi leaned back into his pillow, defeat permeating from every bit of his body. "Maybe I should have had you write that essay instead. It would have saved me a lot of grief with Mayaka."

"You would have rather written the story of Sekitani Jun, the one that took up the most number of pages in 'Hyouka?'"

"Good point. I wasn't envious of you there."

Houtarou grabbed his forgotten glass of water and downed it in one gulp. What time was it? How long had they been talking? How long had Satoshi been awake and had he bothered to eat? He could feel his own stomach rumbling quietly, waiting patiently for food.

"Did you eat?" he asked.

"Wasn't hungry."

"Are you now?"

"Not really."

"I'm going to see what I can do about getting you something to eat," Houtarou said anyway. "Do you know when you're being released?"

"A nurse told me while you were sleeping. They're keeping me today for observation—though I guess while you're here they really won't do much observing. I let them know that I like you a whole lot better than them and they left me alone."

"What did you say to them…" Houtarou wondered exasperatedly, knowing Satoshi's tendency for over-exaggeration was likely still in effect.

" I might have hinted that they need to keep a good eye on their sharp objects if they didn't let me to spend time with you."

Houtarou hung his head in embarrassment. "You know, you're not supposed to intentionally scare the hospital staff, especially with threats to your own life. They're really concerned over your mental state, so you're just asking for more time with a psychiatrist."

"It's fun though, not to mention I got to be with you." Satoshi's lips curled up, and Houtarou could see a little more of him peeking out from behind the layers of the smaller boy's many personas.

"You smiled," Houtarou commented. It sounded as if he was talking about the weather, but it was a rather spectacular event after the last couple smiles he and others had been subjected to. He found himself smiling as well—or at least, as well as he could. His own smiles never looked natural.

Satoshi's eyebrows raised, his fingers touching his mouth. "I did?" he asked. "Well I hope I don't look half as awkward as you do."

Houtarou scowled. "I'm going to find food," he said, not willing to admit he was pouting. Satoshi snickered behind him—something Houtarou didn't want to point out for fear it would cause the other to stop.


	4. Chapter 4

On the way back from the cafeteria, Houtarou ran into the doctor that had treated Satoshi.

"Ah, you're that boy that came with Satoshi-kun last night. How is he? He hasn't been particularly receptive to our questions."

"He answers all of my questions, but I don't think it's fair for me to be the one to tell you about them," Houtarou replied curtly, slightly perturbed at having to socialize.

The doctor hummed, liking analyzing Houtarou as he would all the patients in the hospital. It was just in a doctor's nature to put energy into something unnecessary such as caring for someone who wasn't even a patient.

Houtarou hated doctors.

"Well, that's okay," the doctor said. "I'm in no hurry to get information, unless he ends up here again. Then for his safety I'll need you to let me know."

Houtarou barely managed to keep the glare from his face. "I hope it never comes to that."

"Did you just come from the cafeteria?" the man asked, noticing the food in Houtarou's arms. "Satoshi-kun refused to eat the breakfast we gave him earlier this morning. It'd be great if you could get him to eat."

"What time did you bring him breakfast?" Houtarou asked. While in the cafeteria, he had checked the time, and it was nearing one in the afternoon.

"Around eight, I think? You were asleep, but he had been awake for a while it seemed."

How long had Satoshi been awake? Leaving him with his thoughts was never a good idea, but it couldn't be helped now. Houtarou had to get back to him quickly. "I'm sorry sir, but Satoshi is waiting for me. Is there anything else you need?"

The doctor gave him a patronizing grin, one he likely gave to all the children he came in contact with, regardless of their age. "No. Thank you for stopping to chat. Take care of Satoshi-kun so we won't have to see him again."

Houtarou nodded, already stepping forward.

Satoshi greeted him fairly brightly upon his return. If Houtarou hadn't known better, it was as if things were getting back to normal.

"I was beginning to think you ditched me," Satoshi said.

"I got held up by a doctor asking about you," Houtarou informed him.

"What did you say to him?" Satoshi's voice became a little harder. Did he not trust him?

"I didn't really say anything. I figured you should be the one to tell him." Oh right, there was that one thing. "I did hear that you were awake pretty early, and that you outright refused to eat breakfast."

"Oh, I was hoping to keep that from you. It's not all that important."

"It's important," Houtarou argued. "You haven't been eating, and it's about time we put an end to that. The same with your insomnia issue."

"Are you saying you're going to force feed me or something? And how do you expect to monitor my sleeping habits?" Admittedly, Houtarou hadn't thought that far ahead, and Satoshi's crossness was well deserved.

"If necessary, arrangements can be made," Houtarou replied tersely with what he hoped was a safe answer. He handed the other a packaged sweet bun. "You like these, right? I expect you to have at least some of it, or else I really will force it into your mouth."

Satoshi made a disagreeable expression, but he unwrapped the bun and bit into it anyway. He chewed slowly, as if he couldn't decide if he liked or hated the taste. Houtarou feared the moment when the boy would eat food he didn't like.

After only a few bites, Satoshi pushed the bun back towards Houtarou. "Sorry Houtarou, I really can't eat anymore." Houtarou didn't argue; the other boy was pale, and the hand not holding the bun was locked around his mouth.

"How long exactly has it been since you last ate something?" Houtarou asked, setting the bun aside and taking a bite of his own food.

Satoshi had to think for a few moments, which was disconcerting to begin with. "I don't know; three days?" he said, a questioning lilt to his voice that meant he wasn't entirely sure.

Houtarou sighed. "No wonder you feel sick; I probably should have gotten you porridge or something, though that would've been difficult to carry back."

"The result would have been the same; it's nice that you got me something I enjoyed at least."

Houtarou handed Satoshi the neglected glass of water from a while before. "I hope you'll be able to finish a little more before the end of the day though."

"I'll try."

That seemed to be how they ended many of their conversations now. Satoshi would try, try, try, but would it be enough?

Once Satoshi had finished the water, he appeared much less nauseous, which Houtarou supposed was a good sign. He didn't want to have to explain to some nurse the particular circumstances leading up to her having to clean vomit off the floor.

What could he do now though? With eating out of the way now, he could tackle Satoshi's sleeping problem, though he wasn't sure how far he would get.

"Why don't you rest some more? You couldn't have gotten more than six hours of sleep, and you might as well catch up now while you don't have school."

Surprisingly, Satoshi agreed. "I think with you in the room, it's easier to give in to my exhaustion," he reasoned, eyes half-lidded. "I woke up at five or so in the morning, and for once I can tell it's catching up to me."

Houtarou rested his elbow on Satoshi's bed, though he didn't intend to fall asleep this time. "All the more reason for you to sleep. I'll still be here when you wake up, and Ibara and Chitanda might be out of school, too."

When the two girls' names were mentioned, Satoshi's gaze turned away from his friend. "Ah, right, those two. I think I owe them an apology."

"Don't think too much about it. They don't hold it against you."

"I'd imagine they were pretty worried though."

"I can't deny that. Ibara in particular, since she was there when you collapsed."

Satoshi cringed. "I'm sorry."

"Just go to sleep," Houtarou commanded, reaching up and ruffling Satoshi's hair in an unusual show of camaraderie.

Satoshi looked rather annoyed with being treated like a child, but his annoyance was short-lived as exhaustion took over and his eyelids began to droop again. Unable to fight it, he rolled over onto his side, facing Houtarou. "You're a good person, Houtarou. Thanks. You'll still be here when I wake up, right?" he breathed, repeating his soft plea from the night before.

Unconsciously, Houtarou's lips curled upwards, a genuine and unforced smile gracing his features. "Of course."

When Chitanda and Mayaka entered the room bearing a bright bouquet of flowers and an equally bright colored vase, Satoshi was still sleeping, and Houtarou intended to keep it that way as long as he could, gesturing for them to keep it down and meeting them at the door so the sound of their voices could be as far away from the sleeping boy as possible.

"How is he?" Mayaka whispered as Chitanda arranged the flowers quietly at Satoshi's bedside.

"He's okay, given the circumstances," Houtarou replied quietly. "He's really upsetting the nurses when I'm not looking, but at least he listens to me."

"How would Fukube-san upset them?" Chitanda asked curiously, her eyes taking on that intrigued sparkle Houtarou could never quite resist.

"He doesn't really want them around, so he's essentially made threats to harm himself should they bother him. It doesn't help that he won't eat the meals they prepare for him."

Both girls simultaneously looked to the bed, as if its occupant could tell them in his sleep why he was doing all this.

"I think I've gotten him to open up a bit, though I can't really give you details of our conversation. I'll leave that to him," Houtarou said. "Are you guys going to stay?"

"For a little while at least. We brought notes for both you and Fuku-chan, as well as the bags you left behind in the clubroom," Mayaka said, handing Houtarou a pair of standard blue school bags and rummaging around in her own bag for notes.

"I'm surprised my classmates noticed I was gone," Houtarou muttered matter-of-factly.

"They didn't. I had to ask them myself. Thankfully I knew a few from middle school. Everyone in Fuku-chan's class noticed his absence though. It doesn't help that one or two people from 1-D saw him being carried away by the paramedics."

"How many people know?"

"Not too many I don't think, though that annoying kid Tani saw him. If anyone starts the gossip, I bet it will be him."

"Who's Tani?"

"A guy from the Go Club that thinks it's his mission to constantly challenge Fuku-chan. Fuku-chan isn't very fond of him though."

"Um, Oreki-san? When do you think Fukube-san is coming back to school?" Chitanda asked meekly.

Houtarou shrugged. "He's being released some time tomorrow, provided he behaves, but I don't know when he'll want to go back. Personally, I think it'd be better if he didn't for at least a little while after he's released."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure how many people saw him or if the gossip is still going around. Sure, it might be a good thing for him to go back immediately after getting out, since it's not like he's an invalid, but people will still be talking and he probably wouldn't take to being the center of attention in that manner. He's fragile to begin with, and I don't think pressure like that, no matter how slight, would be good."

"I see," Chitanda said softly. She looked like she wanted to say more, as did Mayaka, but they were interrupted by Satoshi stirring from his sleep.

"Houtarou?" he mumbled sleepily.

Houtarou was instantly by his side, just in time to see Satoshi pressing his fingers into his injured wrist. "Stop that," he hissed under his breath, pulling the fingers away. "Ibara and Chitanda are here."

Satoshi blinked, still trying to get the sleep out of his eyes. Then, Houtarou regretted mentioning that the girls were there, as Satoshi retreated into himself and became the pseudo-persona they had been trying desperately to rid themselves of.

"Hey, Mayaka, Chitanda-san, how was your day?" he asked cheerfully. By all standards, he was the regular, happy Satoshi, right down to the plastered on smile, an image that surprised and confused the two girls.

"It was good; thank you for asking," Chitanda replied, swept up in his act.

Mayaka wasn't fooled—she had always been pretty decent at seeing through to Satoshi's true feelings. "We came to see how you're doing, Fuku-chan," she said seriously. "We have a lot of questions we want answered."

Satoshi's façade didn't waver, though he nervously rubbed the back of his head with his good arm. "Sorry, sorry, I scared you guys didn't I? Well now you know; I've been anemic since birth, and it wasn't until now that I—"

"Don't you dare pass it off with a joke, Fuku-chan; we know why you fainted."

Satoshi tilted his head, as if he wanted to look away from the girl but couldn't. "You've always been able to see through my jokes," he commented.

Mayaka's expression softened. "That's because I know you. Or at least, I thought I did." Her eyes welled up, and she bit down hard on her lip to stop them, but the tears fell anyway. "Why, Fuku-chan? If it was something we did—"

"No, it was nothing you guys did," Satoshi assured her, hollow laughter ringing out as the edges of his mask began to fray. "No one did anything to me. That's the real problem—how do you fix someone if he isn't influenced by trauma?"

"Trauma comes in many forms,'" Houtarou said. "The cause aside, if you're broken, which you clearly are, we'll fix you."

"The only way to fix me now would be to kill me."

Houtarou was on him in a flash, a hand wrapped precariously around Satoshi's neck, the rest of his body trapping the smaller boy in place. He never would have done this before, never would have dreamed of being this close to literally strangling Satoshi, but the build up of stress and sadness had made him question his sanity more than once, and he guessed this had been the last straw.

The girls screamed, but he was too focused on the boy underneath him, on the frightened eyes that stared back up at him, to pay them any mind. "If you want me to, I'll suffocate you right here," Houtarou vowed, voice level, "but you don't mean it. You're not ready to die. Look at you; you're scared that I might actually go through with it. You think there's no way out, but you haven't even tried."

A few drop of water fell onto Satoshi's face, and it took a moment for Houtarou to realize they were his own tears—his own mask had cracked a bit, and for the first time in years, Oreki Houtarou was crying. "Damn it, Satoshi, give us a chance."

Satoshi was at a loss for words, having never seen his best friend so emotional. He trembled under Houtarou's palm, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed nervously.

Houtarou took his hand away, believing the other wasn't going to answer. Then Satoshi had his arms wrapped around him, fingers clutching desperately to the back of his shirt, head burrowed into the crook of his neck. They weren't comfortable—Houtarou was supporting most of their weight on his neck and back, which spelled disaster for his posture for the next couple of days, and his hands and knees dug painfully into the mattress—but all that mattered was that Satoshi was taking Houtarou's extended hand.

"I'm scared," Satoshi whispered, his words almost lost in Houtarou's neck. "Frightened. Terrified. I don't know what to do. It's all just a reflex now; I can't fight it, and I'm just so scared that I'm going to do something stupid that'll make me lose you guys."

Houtarou shifted so he could bring one hand around Satoshi's body for support—and comfort—a short hum his only response, though that was all that was necessary.

"We're more worried about you doing something stupid that would make us lose you," Mayaka said quietly, a hand on Satoshi's shoulder. Chitanda was silent—she probably didn't know what to say since she wasn't as close to Satoshi as the other two—but she rubbed soothing circles on his back. They stayed together like that for a long time.

Satoshi fell back asleep in their arms, still clinging to Houtarou like a lifeline. The three of them felt him slowly go limp, though his hands still had a firm grip on the back of Houtarou's shirt, and once he was sure the boy wouldn't be disturbed, Houtarou eased him back down on the bed.

"…He won't let go," Houtarou muttered as he tried to pry Satoshi's hands off of him.

"We have to be careful so he doesn't wake," Chitanda warned.

"But I'm stuck then!"

"He doesn't look like he's going to let go anytime soon," Mayaka observed.

"Maybe you can take a nap with him?" Chitanda suggested. "You look tired."

"If I lay down, he won't be able to breathe. I'd rather wake him up and get his hands off than wake him up by half suffocating him, especially after that little display."

Mayaka rolled her eyes. "Use your head, Oreki. We're going to leave. If Fuku-chan's asleep, we don't need to be here. The company of a slug isn't that interesting." She quickly exited the room, Chitanda close behind.

The raven-haired girl paused at the door. "Mayaka-san doesn't mean it, you know. It was hard to bring her here. I hope you understand."

Her kind, sweet smile hit Houtarou right in between the eyes. It stung; he really couldn't understand either of them.

When the door closed, Houtarou set his mouth into a thin line as he maneuvered his body so he and Satoshi could be more comfortable. He ended up rolling awkwardly onto his side and hoping he wasn't cutting off circulation to Satoshi's good hand.

Now that he was lying on the bed, he yawned, feeling it would be a good time for a nap of his own. His eyes closed unbidden, and then, nothing.

.

.

Houtarou remembered waking up in a similar situation to his current one, his face less than ten centimeters from Satoshi's as the latter slept on. Satoshi's features weren't relaxed like they were at the hot spring, though. It hadn't been that long since their trip, but it seemed like a lifetime ago since Satoshi had smiled so easily. Had he been hurting himself even back then? Houtarou didn't remember any marks on Satoshi at the time, but the mask could have been fresh at that point and easily hidden from view, not to mention Houtarou himself had been preoccupied for a good portion of that trip…

Now he was suspicious of his memories. He couldn't be doubtful; he had to be like Satoshi—a database dealing only with facts and refraining from drawing conclusions based on incomplete information.

Satoshi's grip on Houtarou's shirt had loosened while they slept, allowing Houtarou to slip the boy's hands out from under him. He didn't take advantage of his renewed freedom, however; the energy required wasn't worth it. The mattress was comfy, and he would risk waking his neighbor from a very necessary slumber.

Though judging from the way Satoshi squirmed and twisted his face, it was more imperative he be woken from his nightmare.

"Satoshi," Houtarou rasped, shaking his friend slightly. The boy only curled into a tighter ball. "Satoshi!"

After several increasingly forceful shakes, Satoshi's eyes flew open, and he bolted upright, narrowly missing Houtarou's chin. His head turned wildly back and forth without noticing his companion as his chest heaved with quick breaths. He tumbled out of bed before Houtarou could stop him, ripping his IV out in the process, and stumbled around, opening cabinets and drawers.

"Oi, what are you—" Houtarou began before he jumped out of bed himself—nearly face-planting into the floor when his legs became caught in the sheets—and ran towards Satoshi, who ruthlessly tore at the bindings on his arm as he searched the room. "Stop it, Satoshi!"

The other ignored him, possibly couldn't hear him at all, too intent on finding whatever he was looking for. He happened upon their bags Mayaka and Chitanda had delivered when they visited.

Houtarou was glad the two girls weren't present for this disaster.

Satoshi rummaged around in his bag, throwing books around until he found it. The light made it shine as he removed it from the bag, and Houtarou's heart stopped.

The taller boy cleared the last few steps to reach his friend, clamping a hand over the handle of the butterfly knife in Satoshi's fingers, his other arm wrapping around the boy's body to ensure he couldn't free his weapon.

"Pull yourself together," Houtarou ground out, teeth clenched with the effort of immobilizing Satoshi, eyes staring directly into the other's. "You're stronger than this."

Satoshi froze, eyes darting from Houtarou and the knife in their hands to the destruction throughout the room, eyes wide as if he was laying his eyes on everything for the first time. Perhaps he was, having been blinded by his mad search.

As his grip on the knife slackened, Satoshi broke down, falling into Houtarou's hold and sobbing uncontrollably. The knife fell from his fingers, the sound as it hit the floor too loud for Houtarou's liking.

The green-eyed boy released the other's fingers, the now free hand coming up to guide Satoshi's head to his shoulder, stroking the boy's hair as softly as he could, hoping the gesture was at least a bit comforting.

Satoshi leaned heavily on Houtarou at an odd angle, so the dark-haired boy carefully sunk to his knees, mindful of the books and papers strewn about. As his shirt wrinkled and his shoulder dampened, Houtarou surveyed the damage. Besides the books around them, a vase had been knocked over, cracked and chipped, the formerly inhabiting flowers falling out into a puddle of water. The cabinets still swung languidly on their hinges, and a drawer balanced precariously on nothing but the very back, threatening to fall any second. The stand holding Satoshi's IV had toppled over, and the bed sheets lay in a disheveled pile on the floor, forgotten in Houtarou's rush.

In short, the room was a mess. Houtarou dreaded cleaning up, but explaining it all to a nurse would be a nightmare in itself.

As he felt Satoshi's sobs dwindle down to intermittent hiccups, he coaxed the other away from his shoulder to look at him. "Are you okay?"

Satoshi nodded. Houtarou didn't comment on his trembling lips or the still falling, albeit slower, tears.

"What happened just now?" Houtarou asked.

Satoshi flinched despite the gentle tone, glancing elsewhere, ashamed.

"Satoshi, I want to understand. Help me understand," Houtarou pleaded.

"Nothing is 'normal' anymore," Satoshi replied reluctantly. "I made normalcy impossible, and so you all—" he paused to avoid breaking down once more "—you all left me, and it's not like I could beg you all for forgiveness because there's no reason to forgive me, so I just wanted to return to normal, and—"

"The first thing you thought of was hurting yourself," Houtarou finished, his voice laden with resignation.

"It wasn't so much of a thought as it was a reflex," Satoshi corrected quietly.

Houtarou offered his shoulder again, and Satoshi took it gratefully. "It was just a dream," he assured him.

"Was it?" Satoshi whispered. "You'll never, ever leave me?"

"It was just a dream," Houtarou repeated. "I said I wouldn't leave, and I meant it. It was all just a dream."


	5. Chapter 5

Some time later, before the boy could fall completely asleep on his shoulder, Houtarou put Satoshi back to bed, gathering up the blankets and sheets off the floor and spreading them over Satoshi's body. Then, he surveyed the room, silently cursing his luck. He would voluntarily deal with Satoshi's episodes any day—he owed the other that much after so many years of loyalty and companionship, especially since he wasn't the sort that showed his gratitude for such friendship—but he could do without cleaning up afterwards. If he could, he would have preferred to take another nap, but if he wanted Satoshi released, he had to make sure the doctors and nurses wouldn't discover a reason to keep him in the hospital longer. He hoped the commotion hadn't caught the attention of one of the doctors.

As per his motto, Houtarou worked quickly. He grabbed the vase, carefully fitting the flowers back into it before making his way to the sink, finding a roll of paper towels to clean up the puddle as he closed the cabinets and drawers on the way. Once it was refilled, he brought the vase along with the towels back to the stand the flowers had been standing on. He gingerly picked up the shards of porcelain that had broken off the vase, wrapping them in a towel and tossing the bundle in the trash. He tore off several more sheets of paper, and while they absorbed the spill, he righted the IV stand, formulating an excuse for why it wasn't attached to Satoshi that would hopefully satisfy the nurses.

The bulk of the work was repacking Satoshi's bag. The books and notebooks now had creases on the covers as well as dents and folds on the corners, but they were simple to pick up and pack away. A few pens had joined in the mess, and one had developed a crack on the end, but again, though Satoshi might fuss about it when he found out, it wasn't a big deal.

The problem was the mass of papers strewn across the floor. Houtarou wasn't entirely sure how Satoshi took notes or how he organized himself, but both of those somehow involved a great number of papers, even without including the notes the girls had brought that afternoon that had gotten mixed in. The most efficient decision would be simply to gather the papers and straighten them out with no regard to the subject each paper belonged to, a particularly appealing strategy since papers had somehow gotten into every crevice in the room. While fishing out the last of them from under the bed, Houtarou almost chose this option, before his fledgling selflessness cut in. Satoshi would have enough trouble as it was, catching up with work; he didn't need an obstacle in the form of an unorganized pile of notes. He would probably just fall farther behind.

So Houtarou found himself kneeling on the floor with all the papers in front of him, sorting them by subject. He tried his best to be chronological as well, but being in different classes made the material slightly different and Houtarou's memory wasn't that good.

Satoshi's notes were impeccable. His handwriting was neat, and there weren't any doodles or digressions like Houtarou had envisioned. The information was concise, business-like, and eerily sterile. Perhaps more disconcerting was how everything was done in black ink. Houtarou knew Satoshi had a number of colored pens, so the fact that the usually flamboyant boy wouldn't take the opportunity to add a personal flair to his notes was odd to say the least. He tucked that tidbit of information away for safekeeping, alongside all the other hidden points of Satoshi's increasingly disquieting personality that were surfacing.

Houtarou wasn't sure how long it took him to finish gathering and organizing the notes, but when he finally got up his knees nearly screamed from disuse. As he turned to put all the papers away, he accidentally kicked the handle of the knife, which was still on the floor. He had been trying his best to ignore the weapon, which in hindsight would've caused serious trouble had anyone come in. Satoshi had been at his lowest with it in his hands, out of touch with his body. Houtarou preferred not to think about the budding insanity in Satoshi's eyes, the feel of the knife between both of their fingers as they struggled against each other, or his sobs, still echoing in Houtarou's ear.

He pocketed the butterfly knife and searched for any other sharp objects in the other's bag as well, relieved when he found none. Even without the threat of self-harm, Satoshi bringing a knife to school was disturbing. Adding in the purpose of the knife—that he felt he needed it, that he couldn't even wait until he got home—that was terrifying.

The delicate nature of Satoshi's troubles weighed down on Houtarou's shoulders. Had he taken on more than he could handle? Could he truly keep Satoshi from hurting himself again? Could he retrieve the former Satoshi from the depths of the other's mind? When he had first entered this hospital room, he had been confident enough, but now he wasn't so sure. There was no one to help him though; Houtarou himself had isolated the two of them through that promise with Satoshi. However, the promise only extended to their conversation from last night; the episode with the knife was beyond that. Houtarou intended to take advantage of that—he had to tell Satoshi's parents.

He had forgotten his phone at home and he didn't have money to use a payphone, but he knew Satoshi always had his phone in his bag. It was easy to find its bright pink case, and Houtarou was pleased to find that the password hadn't changed. Surely his friend wouldn't mind him using it for an innocent phone call.

He slipped out of the room and down to the lobby. There wasn't much activity, though he could hear muffled sirens blaring from the emergency room on the other side of the building. He hoped the sound couldn't be heard through the phone; Satoshi's parents didn't need more reminders that their son was in the hospital.

The screen of Satoshi's phone read 21:57, a little late for a phone call, but the Fukubes were likely still awake. Houtarou wasn't disappointed, as Satoshi's mother picked up on the first ring.

"Satoshi?"

"Sorry, this is Oreki. I forgot my phone, so I'm using Satoshi's. I hope you don't mind."

"Oh, Houtarou-kun! It's not a problem at all." Houtarou heard a hint of disappointment in her voice, which he supposed was only natural. Internally, he apologized to her for not being her bright and bubbly son. "Why are you calling? Did something happen?"

"I guess you could say that..."

The squeal of a chair sliding against the floor made its way through the phone. "What happened?"

"First, I have to ask—do you know why there's a knife in Satoshi's school bag or how it got there?"

"A knife? Satoshi took a knife to school?" Houtarou pulled the phone slightly away from his ear. In the background, he heard an outburst and more squeaking of furniture over the speaker.

"Houtarou-kun, you're on speaker phone now," Satoshi's father said. "What's this about a knife?"

"About an hour ago, Satoshi woke up from a nightmare. He was disoriented—I don't think he knew I was there—and he began searching the room for something, which turned out to be a knife he pulled out of his school bag."

"What did it look like? I don't know exactly what knives are in the house, but we really only have cooking knives and one of those multipurpose tools." The man on the other line still sounded calm, which was a good thing for Houtarou. He hadn't planned what to do if both of them went into hysterics.

"It was a butterfly knife—thin, small, and I think it had a wooden handle."

Houtarou waited while the two of them whispered for several moments. "That might have been a present he got for his birthday several years back," Mr. Fukube finally said. "I vaguely remember it. I doubt he went and purchased his own; we would know about it."

"The main point is that neither of you were aware it was with him, meaning he hid it exceptionally well. I'm worried that his…habit will jeopardize his safety no matter where he goes. I'm holding onto his knife for now, so he'll be fine here, but I can't say the same for his home."

"We'll discuss that tonight. Thank you for calling us, Houtarou-kun. We'll be picking Satoshi up tomorrow around eleven. I think he'd be more comfortable if you came home with us too." He heard hurried footsteps on hardwood floor and metal tinkling together. Silverware?

"I'd prefer that," he said, hoping they were still listening. "I'm more comfortable when he's somewhere I can see him."

"We'll be seeing you tomorrow then," Mrs. Fukube replied. "And Houtarou-kun? I want you to take care of yourself. You sound exhausted."

"Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"Still, don't overextend yourself. It's late, so be sure to get some rest soon. Good night, Houtarou-kun."

When the call ended, Houtarou turned to go back upstairs, but then realized he hadn't contacted his own parents at all. They never worried much about him, knowing him to be fairly self-sufficient, but it couldn't hurt to call them. He scrolled through the contacts for his phone number, but paused once he found it. Directly underneath was a contact for his sister. Before he could think too hard about it, he tapped "Oreki Tomoe," knowing she was still awake.

"Satoshi-kun, isn't it a little late for you to be calling?"

"Aneki, it's me."

"Houtarou?!" Tomoe's shriek made Houtarou wince. "Where have you been? Satoshi-kun's parents called yesterday to say you were all right, but they didn't want to give us any details."

"It's a long story, and I don't really want to talk about it over the phone, especially since this isn't even mine. I just wanted to tell you that I'm at the hospital." Houtarou ignored Tomoe's spluttering. "I'm not hurt. I'm not going to be able to go home yet though; I'll be at the Fukubes' house tomorrow afternoon."

"Which hospital are you at?"

"No."

"What?"

"You're not coming here."

He could see her pouting. "Why not?"

"Because there's nothing you can do and I don't want you disturbing the patients."

"You're so rude to your older sister. Let me at least bring you a change of clothes and your cell phone."

"I don't think I need them."

"I think you do. I'm your sister; I'm just looking out for you."

"I'll probably stop by sometime tomorrow. Don't come."

"The way you're protesting, you'd think I was bringing a plague."

"I just can't let you come here."

"…Fine, but I expect you to sleep at home tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay."

"Just know that I'll take you back by force if you don't come home. Anyway, I can't talk anymore. I have a test tomorrow, so I have to study."

Sometimes Houtarou wondered whether she cut all their conversations short on purpose. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Bye!"

With that, the line cut. For once, Houtarou wasn't frustrated with the clipped conversation. He definitely had to make sure he went home though; he didn't want to find out exactly how much force his sister would use to bring him back.

When Houtarou returned to the room, nothing had changed. Satoshi slept on peacefully, and their bags sat on a desk by the door. He stared at his bag for a moment, inwardly groaning at the unfinished homework lying within. He was tired; caring for Satoshi was physically and mentally draining, and to top it off, he had to clean, a task that never suited his energy-conserving lifestyle. Nonetheless, it was another one of those things he had to do, so once he picked up and threw away the paper towels he had left on the floor, he settled in to do his homework.

Naturally, he fell asleep halfway through.

He woke to the sound of the door creaking open from a nurse making her rounds. When he raised his head groggily, she bowed her head apologetically, quickly retreating back into the hallway. As the door clicked shut, any remembrance of his dreams vanished, save for an image of Satoshi falling into a sea of darkness, calling his name. He shuddered to analyze that particular nightmare.

It was early, the sun just coming up, peeking through the windows at just the right angle to shine light directly into Houtarou's eyes. Scowling, he turned back to his homework, if only to escape the glare. His brows only furrowed more when he realized how little he had gotten done the night before. Shaking the sleep away the best he could, he resumed his work.

Satoshi didn't wake until Houtarou was on his final math worksheet, and Houtarou, for one, was glad for the distraction.

"Good morning. Did you sleep all right?" he asked, the question a legitimate concern rather than for the purpose of exchanging pleasantries.

Satoshi blinked blankly, not even registering the question, mind only half-conscious and motor functions sluggish. "The room is clean…" he observed, a note of disbelief in his voice.

"It wasn't so hard," Houtarou said. "It looked worse than it was." Satoshi hummed in response—Houtarou wasn't sure what that meant.

Thankfully, the brunette didn't dwell on it. "Did you sleep at all?" he asked with a yawn, rubbing his eyes.

"I fell asleep on my homework," Houtarou scowled, twirling his pencil a few times in his hand. "Of course our teachers decided to push all this work on us the day we're absent. Thankfully, I'm almost done."

Satoshi's face fell slightly. "Sorry you had to miss school."

Houtarou dismissed his friend's troubles with a wave of his hand. "Don't sweat it. I could use the break. I got to sleep for a good portion of yesterday, so I have plenty of energy for this at least. I have you to thank for that." He frowned at Satoshi's still crestfallen face. "Come on, it's a good thing."

His eyes drifted back to his math sheet. There wasn't much use talking to Satoshi about it for now. Besides, the question Houtarou had been stuck on for the past fifteen minutes suddenly looked solvable.

Houtarou briefly allowed himself to believe it was like old times—one of them doing homework while the other watched or simply sat there, existing. That was all they had ever needed, a presence. Half of their bond resided in the warm silences that passed between them, the words they didn't need to say to understand each other.

Unfortunately, the warmth had disappeared, the silences no longer comfortable, and though Houtarou rarely felt the need to fill the air with words, he found himself voluntarily throwing them out now.

"What are you going to do when you're released?" he asked, eyes still on the math sheet, fingers spinning his pencil.

"I don't know. Do you know if my parents are coming to get me?"

Now that he mentioned it, Satoshi hadn't seen his parents yet. Houtarou winced; that was his fault.

"I think they said eleven," he answered, dropping his pencil. Instead of bending down to pick it up, he just pulled out another from the front pocket of his bag.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going with you, of course."

"You should go home."

"I'd rather make sure you're okay."

"I'll be at my house; why wouldn't I be okay?"

"Most of those scars were made at your house."

Satoshi grimaced. "Why would I bother anymore? I failed, and now everyone knows. It was better when I could just take care of everything on my own and no one was hurt except me."

"It wasn't better, and I know you know that."

"No, it was better because no one could care."

Arguing with Satoshi was like punching a wall—frustrating and futile. Perhaps it was the topic; they needed to focus on something else.

Then he realized the perfect distraction was right in front of him. Adding the last line to his math sheet, he packed his things away then took both of their bags over to Satoshi's bed, letting them fall onto the boy's legs. "Do your homework. Your grades are terrible as it is."

Satoshi made a face. "There are much more important things than homework."

"I agree, but it should give you something better to think about than whatever goes on in your head."

"An ulterior motive, I see."

"Just do the worksheets."

Satoshi begrudgingly pulled out his papers, then paused as he flipped through them. "Eh? Houtarou, you organized these?"

After falling asleep and filling his head with useless math formulas, Houtarou had forgotten about his great sorting endeavor. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

"Well I don't usually organize by subject. I group everything by the day I learned it so it's easier to do homework."

"That's an odd way of doing things."

"It's just another one of my idiosyncrasies. Anyway, last I remember, my papers were all over the room. I would know; I threw them there myself."

Houtarou really wished that Satoshi wouldn't treat his actions so nonchalantly. "Is it a problem that I organized them for you?"

"It just feels odd to have you helping me so much. Wasn't it tedious and unnecessary? You could have just put them all into a pile any which way and stuffed it in here. I wouldn't have minded."

"I thought about that," Houtarou admitted truthfully, "but I don't need you to fail high school math in addition to everything else that's going on. There's only so many ways to help you out; fixing up your notes was just the easiest at the time."

"I'm not used to your more active lifestyle. Is this a permanent change to your character or do you just have a fever?"

Houtarou knocked him lightly on the head with a stack of papers. "Shut up and do your homework."

.

.

Houtarou managed to coax Satoshi through the bulk of his work before the clock struck eleven. Eventually though, neither of them could take it anymore. Houtarou had already done hours of homework before and Satoshi's class was ahead of his in most subjects, so he had no clue what was going on. Satoshi, always loathe to do homework, could only work for so long in a single sitting, even with friendly encouragement.

"I don't know anymore," the brunette wailed, collapsing over the math sheet he had completely erased for the third time.

"I don't know either because I haven't learned that at all," Houtarou said. He had long since retreated into a book once they had reached material he hadn't learned. He couldn't help but notice how animated Satoshi had become now that he had something to focus on. Apparently homework had a benefit after all.

The door chose that moment to open and let in the doctor and Satoshi's parents. Satoshi immediately straightened up, and much to Houtarou's displeasure, his face morphed into one of complete neutrality. Houtarou hoped the emotionless state was only a result of the doctor's presence.

There wasn't much else for the doctor to do except give a short lecture about the importance of Satoshi taking care of himself, how worried he had made everyone, et cetera, et cetera—Houtarou tuned him out—before giving him slips of paper with a prescription for antidepressants and an appointment for therapy. As soon as he was out of the doctor's sight and his parents were filling out his release forms, Satoshi tore up the notes and threw them in the trash.

Houtarou's somber gaze followed the shreds of paper as they floated down into the bin. So much for thinking Satoshi was slowly getting back to normal. "You should probably keep those."

"I don't need medication to tell me how I'm supposed to feel, and I won't talk to a psychiatrist whose only purpose is to gain money from pretending to sympathize with me."

Before Houtarou could respond, Mrs. Fukube called them over. Her husband was nowhere to be seen, presumably going to get the car. "Satoshi, let's go home. You too, Houtarou-kun."

A cold breeze blew past as they exited the hospital. As they waited for the car, Mrs. Fukube's eyes flitted to her son constantly, clearly wishing to say something but holding back. Houtarou glanced over to Satoshi. Now that he wasn't in a hospital gown, Satoshi's white skin stood out even more, and his body trembled from the cold, though his expression remained controlled as if nothing was wrong. His mother had brought him a change of clothes, a dark ensemble that she likely just picked off the top of his drawers, seeing as even Houtarou knew that Satoshi normally wouldn't have dreamed of matching the two together. His uniform, which had been shoved into a bag as soon as the doctor had given it to them, was likely ruined, and even if they could salvage it, Houtarou figured the Fukubes would throw it away to avoid thinking about the morbid connotations of the clothing.

They stayed silent until the car pulled up and they had driven a few miles down the road.

"Satoshi," Mr. Fukube began, "what's wrong?"

Satoshi's gaze stayed firmly locked on the window, not even acknowledging the question.

"Satoshi, please tell us what's wrong," his mother implored, turning in her seat. "We're your parents; don't shut us out."

Satoshi continued to stare at the window.

"At least talk to them, Satoshi," Houtarou hissed.

"I don't want to talk," Satoshi said matter-of-factly. "I don't want to talk about how I accidentally almost killed myself, nor do I want to talk about all the other times. I don't want to talk about how I hate getting up in the morning, how it hurts just to be alive, and I definitely don't want to talk about how I'm such an obvious disappointment and a failure. So I would appreciate it if I could have a simple car ride where people aren't trying to get into my head and sorting out my problems for me."

When he finished, no one could say a word, shocked speechless by his scalding monologue. His mother had eyes like a deer in headlights; his father was likely the same, though he kept his eyes on the road.

"Ah, we haven't eaten yet," Houtarou said after a moment, hoping to dispel the atmosphere. "Can we have lunch?"

"How about we have take-out?" Mr. Fukube suggested, an obvious tone of relief in his voice. "There's a good place right around the corner."

"I'm fine with anything. What's good there?"

They briefly talked about menu items before Mrs. Fukube looked to Satoshi. "What would you like to eat?"

"I'm not hungry," he mumbled.

"He can share with me," Houtarou cut in.

With Satoshi refusing to say a word, they passed through the drive-thru without making conversation. Not for lack of trying, of course; all three of them tried at least once to fill the silence, only for it to devolve into metaphorical cricket chirping. Houtarou half wished the Fukubes would change their focus and try making small talk with him instead, but he supposed he could understand their desire for Satoshi to give them even a small bit of understanding. It was excruciating though, to sit through Satoshi's constant deflections of his family's love.

Thankfully, before the silence could become unbearable, they pulled up to their house.

Once they got inside, while his mother and father set out everything, Satoshi went to open the cupboard. Houtarou guessed he had wanted a drink, but his hand stopped halfway to the handle.

"Mom, where's that big wooden block we put our cooking knives in?"

The rest of them froze as Satoshi's soft question seemed to roar through the room.

"Ah, the knife holder had a few cracks in it," his mother replied, voice squeaky with nervousness, "so I threw it away. Then I figured I'd get a new kitchen set while I was at it. I've had those for ages."

Satoshi appeared thoughtful before reaching for one of the kitchen drawers. It pulled open without a sound; the rest behaved the same way even as his searching became more forceful and hurried. Each drawer and cabinet slammed shut, the noise becoming louder and louder with each passing moment as if to compensate for the lack of sounds within them.

"Satoshi," his mother called, but the boy didn't seem to hear. He rushed from place to place around the house—the bathroom, his bedroom, the closet.

Houtarou followed behind carefully. A bottle of shaving cream sat on the edge of the sink, threatening to fall into the mass of non-prescription drugs and make-up tossed in the sink, but the usually accompanying razor was nowhere to be seen. A sewing kit dug out of the closet held thread and buttons but neither pins nor needles. On Satoshi's desk, the scissors and penknife that were usually in his pencil holder had disappeared.

Satoshi walked slowly back to his mother, a hand on the wall as if to support himself, his search fruitless. "You…you lied," he accused, his eyes wide and disbelieving. "You lied to me," he repeated louder, searing anger taking over his voice. "Are you so scared that you took everything sharp out of the house? I'm not a two-year-old; you don't have to child-proof the house!"

"We just wanted to take precautions—"

"You don't trust me," Satoshi interrupted, biting his trembling lip. "I can't beli—I don't want that! That's the last thing I want, the last thing I need."

"But when we heard you brought a knife to—" his father began, before realizing his error.

Satoshi's eyes filled with fear as he whirled around to face Houtarou. "You told them? Why?"

Houtarou winced at the accusation of betrayal woven into Satoshi's voice. "You brought a knife to school, Satoshi. No matter the intent, that's illegal, not to mention it was a danger to both of us in the hospital."

"How much more did you tell them? I thought you said you wouldn't say anything!"

"I said I wasn't going to tell them all the details of you hurting yourself, but I never said anything about keeping your actions after that a secret," Houtarou replied honestly. "I did it for both their sake and yours. I was scared, Satoshi; as much as the both of us want me to, I can't do this alone."

"Houtarou-kun had nothing to do with us hiding everything," Mr. Fukube cut in. "We were thinking of doing so anyway. We're just looking out for you; please think of things from our point of view."

"Think of things from my point of view—I'm a failure. I messed up. I ruined our lives forever and I'm making you all suffer for it." He wilted to the floor, head in his hands. "I just…I just want everything to be normal again."

"We're your family, Satoshi," Mrs. Fukube said gently, "and Houtarou-kun is your friend. We're supposed to care about you. That's normal."

Houtarou bent down to Satoshi's level. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything if it made you uncomfortable."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Satoshi mumbled. "But I want everyone to stay out of my life from now on." He stood back up suddenly, startling everyone in the room. Before anyone could move, Satoshi had his coat and shoes on, one foot already out the door. In a flash, Houtarou was on his feet as well, not even bothering with his coat as he ran after him.

.

.

There were plenty of reasons why Houtarou rarely used energy, the most prominent being that he was a terrible athlete. Knowing that Satoshi would surely outrun him, he took a few moments to borrow a certain yellow bicycle. Then he was pedaling down the road, asking pedestrians which way his friend had gone. When the other boy was finally back in his sights, Houtarou sped up, turning in front of him and cutting him off. Satoshi tried to move around him and the bike, but Houtarou was faster, reaching out and curling his fingers tightly around Satoshi's wrist and stopping him in his tracks.

"Let go of me," Satoshi said, though he didn't struggle.

"I'm not going to take you back home, if that's what you're worried about," Houtarou assured him.

"I don't want to go anywhere with you."

"It's me or your parents."

"I'd rather it be neither."

"I'm sorry, Satoshi; I just wanted to help."

"No, you wanted to help yourself. But like I said, you have nothing to apologize for, so leave me alone."

"I can't do that."

"Yes, you can. It's easy; let go."

"If I do that, you're going to run off who knows where and hurt yourself one way or another."

"You don't trust me. No one trusts me anymore."

"And give me one reason why I should trust you now," Houtarou growled. "You're a danger to yourself, Satoshi. You weren't even completely conscious of your actions while we were at the hospital. You said yourself that it's a reflex. You may think now that you won't try it again, but I know that right now you're easily worked up and all it takes is one bad hour and then we might find ourselves in the hospital again, or worse. I can't afford to trust you. I'd rather you hate me than for you to end up there again."

Satoshi's eyes drifted to the ground. "I know all that, but that doesn't mean it's okay to go behind my back. I understand why you did it, but the results—I can't take it. I don't want to be in that house."

"Then come to mine," Houtarou offered. "There's no one there. My parents work, and my sister has classes."

"Can I ride my bike there?"

"No, you're in much better shape than I am. You can stand to walk a little while longer." And I'm not giving you the ability to escape.

"Then let go of me."

"You won't run away?"

"Why would I bother? You have my bike."

"Just making sure." He slowly took away his hand, satisfied when Satoshi didn't bolt.

They set off without a word. When they passed an arcade, eight-bit music floating through the walls, Houtarou almost asked if Satoshi wanted to stop for a game to perhaps ease the animosity between them, to create a sense of normalcy again. They played so often in middle school, when Satoshi was competitive and rowdy at games. Houtarou doubted he was the same now. Houtarou himself likely wasn't the same either.

So how would he act? A single wrong move would cause disaster. He could let Satoshi win, perhaps instill that competitive spirit once more, allow him the thrill of victory, or he could play as hard as he could to avoid patronizing him. Both options were outside of his usual character, however. He put little effort into games; if he won, he won, and if he lost, he lost. He left it up to luck and never had a strategy. Surely Satoshi had realized this. If he acted out of character, it would probably just give Satoshi more reason to feel out of place in an ordinary situation.

Even video gaming was volatile. Nothing would be the same anymore, a fact that hit Houtarou dead on. He had thought similar thoughts in the hospital, but it was much more potent now that he had truly weighed his options in real time and ended up doing nothing. It shouldn't be so dangerous to go to a silly arcade.

He hated it. Houtarou hated it all. He hated Satoshi for destroying his normal life as well as Chitanda and Mayaka for accepting each and every lie. He hated the world for the pressure it put on them all, so much that Satoshi broke under it. He hated what they had all become, fretting over every little word and action.

Most of all, he hated himself, the worst offender, for being talented and causing Satoshi's depression. He hated himself for letting everything happen and not telling a soul, and he hated his inability to trust his best friend, the one who always placed so much trust in him. Theirs was supposed to be a mutual relationship, not a one-sided idolization.

These corrosive thoughts ate into his world, created an abyss he could easily fall into, an abyss so dark that he could never escape. Surely, if he fell, Satoshi would fall as well, faster and deeper.

That couldn't happen. Houtarou wouldn't let it. It was so hard though, and a single wrong move would—

His thoughts had come full circle. At least they had reached his house before his imagination could run wilder. Somehow, in his rush out of the Fukube house, he had had the presence of mind to grab his school bag, which held his keys. Parking the bike, he looked irately for them, creating a juvenile display of taking his annoyance out on inanimate objects.

"You should eat something," Houtarou commented as he opened the door. He was mildly proud that his poor mood didn't transfer to his voice. "We sort of skipped out on lunch at your house."

"I'm not hungry."

Satoshi's tone burned. Clearly even food was becoming a delicate subject. "Soup it is," he decided, making his way to the kitchen. Though he hadn't participated in the Wildfire competition, Houtarou wasn't completely inept at cooking. He knew enough to fend for himself the many times his parents had worked late while his sister traveled the globe and for a some time before her trip as well, since she had made him cook as an "offering to his elders."

As he rummaged around in the cabinet for a suitable pot, he heard the TV turn on and the channel change a few times. He rarely watched television, if ever, finding it mindless and tiresome, so he quickly tuned out the voices while he busied himself around the kitchen.

When he re-entered the den, two bowls of soup in hand, the television greeted him brightly with the music video of some pop song he had never heard of. The viewer, meanwhile, was silent.

With a wry smile, Houtarou put the bowls down onto the coffee table and quickly grabbed a blanket from the closet. Shaking it out, he spread it out over his slumbering friend, taking care not to wake him. For an insomniac, he sure slept a lot—not that Houtarou was complaining. Even though they weren't exactly on the best terms right now, Houtarou was glad Satoshi could still let his guard down long enough around him to get some much needed rest.

As he crouched down to keep watch over Satoshi, the front door opened and a cheerful enunciation of "I'm home!" rang through the house. Houtarou's eyes darted anxiously to the still sleeping boy, but thankfully his sister hadn't managed to wake him. He rushed to the entrance to meet her, glaring, a finger on his lips.

"Houtarou!" Tomoe exclaimed, though quieter this time. "You're home! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Who did it? Do I need to have a talk with someone?" She patted him from head to toe, even lifting his shirt to examine the skin underneath.

"I'm fine!" Houtarou cried, pulling his shirt back down and shoving her hands away.

"Then why did you spend two days in the hospital? Is that the new trendy place for kids these days to hang out?"

Houtarou scoffed. "Who would? You make it sound like your childhood days were eons ago. Are you an old hag already?"

Tomoe dug her knuckles into his head. "What a rude child. It's not nice to call young women hags, little brother," she corrected, a mixture of playfulness and genuine irritation in her voice. "Anyway, you had us worried sick. You should have called us as soon as you had arrived at the hospital, and you should've called when you were coming home so I could be here."

"I was a little busy while I was there," Houtarou said truthfully. "As for now, we came a little earlier than expected, and I didn't have my phone."

"Which is why you should have let me bring it to you last night, but it's too late now," his sister reasoned. "So why were you in the hospital? Don't tell me you guys were witness to a mugging and got involved with some color gang."

"What are you even saying? How could you possibly come to that conclusion?"

"You aren't telling me, so I'm guessing."

Houtarou sighed. Dealing with his sister was exhausting. Before she could try to guess more, he said, "Satoshi fainted after school in the clubroom."

Tomoe's jaw fell, eyes wide in momentary shock. Nothing surprised his sister; Houtarou's world truly was flipping upside down. "Satoshi?" she asked. "Why? How?"

Houtarou paused, unsure if he should continue. Would Tomoe understand? She had a soft spot for Satoshi; they had hit it off right from the start the first time they had met and often exchanged emails and texts before the college student had run off to another country. He didn't want her to begin treating Satoshi differently, but Houtarou would likely be bringing Satoshi over to keep an eye on him. Tomoe deserved to know.

He took out the knife that had been burning in his pocket since he had picked it up. Handing it to Tomoe, he said, "Satoshi's hurting himself, has been for a while."

His sister held the weapon gently between her fingers in horrified curiosity. "Where does a student get his hands on something like this?"

"It was apparently a gift." He felt oddly self-conscious telling Tomoe. She was essentially an outsider to this crisis, and in some ways it was unfair for Houtarou to burden her with these problems. He found his eyes drifting away from Tomoe's face and to the floor. "It's funny, really. These sorts of things happen all the time, and you're taught about it in school, but you don't really think too hard about it until it happens to you. Then suddenly you have to remember all the tips you've learned from those boring lessons and hope you're prepared for the worst."

Tomoe tucked the knife away in her back pocket before gathering Houtarou in her arms. "Little brother, you say you're fine, but are you really okay?"

"Satoshi's the one hurt, not me."

"But you look like you want to cry." She ran her hand soothingly through Houtarou's hair. "You never ever release your emotions. The last time I remember seeing you cry you were in second grade. That's eight years of bottling up your feelings and there's no way that's healthy. Just because Satoshi-kun is the one hurting doesn't mean you can't be hurting too."

Houtarou could feel the walls he had built crumbling. He should have known his sister would see through his tough front. His arms rose to return the hug, and then he was fisting the back of her shirt and telling her everything, as if a floodgate had opened in the middle of a tsunami. He just kept talking, trying to let loose all the suppressed emotions he wasn't used to having. It wasn't enough.

"Aneki, I don't know what to do," he whimpered, burying his head into Tomoe's shoulder. Then he was sobbing, unable to keep his composure any longer. He was stressed and exhausted, frustrated and confused, and that brief instance of tears in the hospital just hadn't been enough to compensate for all that.

Tomoe's arms held on tighter as he melted to the ground, perhaps in hopes of holding him together. Her own breathing hitched slightly, barely keeping her own tears at bay. "You'll figure it out. Don't rush; it's okay to let it out. Who knew I would have such an emotionally stunted baby brother?" she joked, forcing out a laugh. "Be strong, Houtarou, for Satoshi-kun. But when things get tough, come to me. You don't have to face this alone."

She cupped his face in her hands, wiping away his tears and forcing him to look at her. "You are my little brother; don't forget that. Even when it seems hard, you'll see this through. I'll be there for you every step of the way, especially for the tears. Crying is a sign of compassion, not weakness."

Houtarou nodded, sniffling. Tomoe offered him as good a smile as she could muster before pulling him up on his feet. "You look exhausted," she observed. "Why don't you get some rest? I'll watch over Satoshi-kun."

Without waiting for a response, she dragged him to the bathroom and dumped him in the shower, rushing upstairs to grab clothes. He felt like a child. She likely would have dressed him too if Houtarou hadn't mustered enough energy to push her out. As it was, she came in and blow-dried his hair before ushering him up the stairs and tucking him into bed.

When she left, however, Houtarou couldn't sleep. Was this how Satoshi felt, all those nights he stayed awake? His eyes burned from the tears and exhaustion, but he couldn't relax. Too many thoughts of how to fix things between him and Satoshi, how to help him, how to care for him, and so on jumped around in his head.

His white ceiling cued flashbacks of bandages and hospital rooms even after he closed his eyes. Turning over, Houtarou buried his face into a pillow, muffling his scream. He didn't want these memories to play over and over in his mind; he just wanted to sleep. He at least had made the rational decision to seek sleep; he didn't want to be like Satoshi, waiting for his body to make the decision for him.

When he closed his eyes though, flashes of the past few days played behind his eyelids. Satoshi's expression after his four-day absence—Satoshi had been unconsciously calling out for help even then, hadn't he? And Houtarou had naively accepted the "falling down the stairs" excuse; as the Magician, Satoshi should have been much more creative than that. After that, Satoshi had only run away; Houtarou hadn't caught him in time and they all paid for it. Would things be different if they had noticed earlier? Mayaka thought not, but what did he think?

His train of thought was rudely interrupted by the telephone. His house echoed, so he could hear his sister as she picked up.

"Hello? Oh, Mrs. Fukube, how a—Satoshi-kun? He's here. Yes...yes I know; Houtarou told me. Don't worry; he's safe. He's sleeping right now. Houtarou's sleeping, too…Ah, they're away on business. They left yesterday. They wanted to stay here, but there was no way out of it…Monday…Yes, I'm in charge… I'm sorry, but I won't do that. He wouldn't like it…Yes, I understand. He's in safe hands; it's no problem…Okay, I'll let them know. Goodbye, Mrs. Fukube."

Houtarou heard footsteps coming up the stairs, the fourth step creaking louder than the rest. Knowing his sister was coming in to check on him, he sat up, more interested in talking about the phone call than trying to sleep.

"Oh, you're awake," Tomoe observed when she poked her head in. "You really should get some sleep, little brother."

"I tried."

Tomoe pursed her lips, visibly peeved that he wasn't resting. She seriously invested too much in his well being—she had since he was born. His parents had always told him that she had been so excited to have a younger brother that she resolved to take care of him on her own whenever she could. That resolution had never gone away, and when it came to caring for each other, he simply couldn't compete. It was a rather one-sided relationship that neither intended to fix; it made Tomoe happy and benefited Houtarou.

"Well, the Fukubes called."

"I heard."

"Then you know they were pretty worried."

"I wasn't about to call his parents in front of him. They probably would have asked to talk to him and he would have refused, creating even more tension. So instead I made him something to eat—not that he ate it. He fell asleep before that."

"Right, I told them that, though not in as many words. Then they changed the subject to our parents."

"Where are they now?"

"Mom's somewhere in the Kansai region and Dad is doing something in America. Don't ask me what."

"It might have been nice to tell me this last night."

"I forgot."

"What else did you say on the phone?"

"They wanted to know if I was going to be around for a while, which I am, and asked if I could hide the knives as well. I said no for obvious reasons."

"Would you have said yes if I hadn't told you about Satoshi's breakdown?"

"Perhaps."

Houtarou hummed thoughtfully, letting his back fall onto the bed again.

"They also said they were sorry, and you guys are welcome back at any time."

"I know that, but Satoshi probably won't want to go back for a while."

"I think we all know that. He can stay as long as he needs to. As it is, he's still sleeping right now, which is what you should be doing too."

Houtarou grimaced, still unable to relax enough to give into his exhaustion.

"I can sing you a lullaby if that would help," Tomoe offered.

"It wouldn't."

Tomoe grinned. "I'll leave you alone then." She shut the door without a sound, leaving him alone with his thoughts once more.

That was likely the problem—he was thinking too much. Unlike his sister, he never took a martial art, so he knew little about meditation and couldn't quite clear his mind, but he decided to do the next best thing: filling it with mindless information from studying. After all, he had passed out over his notes at the hospital.

As expected, fifteen minutes after he opened a textbook and started reading, his eyelids drooped, and he was out like a light.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you guys don't hate me already, then you're likely going to hate me by the end of this chapter.

"Houtarou, wake up."

He hadn't dreamed, at least not memorably, but he had slept well, feeling much more like himself, much more stable.

That didn't mean he was ready to wake up though. "What?" he mumbled, his voice bordering on a whine.

"Have some dinner," his sister ordered. "I don't want you falling into the same eating habits as Satoshi-kun. I warmed up the soup you made."

Without waiting for consent, she yanked the covers off the bed and pulled him to his feet. A moment later, he was tripping down the staircase, making a lot of noise.

Tomoe immediately shushed him. "Satoshi-kun's still sleeping. I don't have the heart to wake him up when he's so visibly tired."

He glared at her. "Don't push me down the stairs in the dark, then."

No lights were on in the house, but the full moon illuminated most of the rooms, including the den, where Satoshi was sleeping.

Houtarou peered over the back of the couch, relieved that Satoshi was still sleeping peacefully. He didn't need a repeat of the hospital; there were more sharp corners and breakable objects around, not to mention the sheer principle of Satoshi having nightmares. A month ago, Houtarou wouldn't have expected Satoshi to even have nightmares. Now, they threatened them both.

Tomoe tiptoed into the den to stand next to him. "What are you thinking about?"

Houtarou almost told her the truth, but she could do little about intangible images formed from their subconscious minds. "What have you been doing in the dark?" he asked instead.

"Homework."

"How?"

"Computers have backlights for a reason."

"That's bad for your eyes."

"And sleeping on your textbook is bad for your neck. Knowing how tired you were, I'm surprised you even picked it up."

"It helped me get to sleep."

The admission made Tomoe pause. Houtarou glanced at her, wishing to gauge her expression, but she turned as soon as he looked. "Let's eat something. It's getting late."

After giving him a bowl of soup, she joined her brother at the table with a bowl of her own, but the added person did nothing to break the silence. Halfway through the meal, Tomoe sighed. "I figured I wouldn't have to worry about you when I went off to college. Satoshi-kun was the last person I expected to cause you trouble. If anything, I was hoping he would rub off on you and make you more active."

"Sometimes the one we have the least concern for is the one that needs the most help," Houtarou replied softly, lifting another spoonful of soup into his mouth.

Tomoe stared at him a moment, head propped up by her hand. "You've changed, Houtarou."

"Have I?"

"You have a softer air around you, a more sensitive feeling. It's subtle, but it seems high school has done you well."

Houtarou looked away, embarrassed. Tomoe chuckled, reaching over the table and mussing up his hair, much to his chagrin.

"I'm glad," she continued. "A year ago, I'm not sure you would have cared quite as much about Satoshi's problem."

"A year ago, he didn't have a problem," Houtarou pointed out, "and his problem came about because I changed—because he changed. As soon as he started comparing himself to me, he simply gave up."

Tomoe didn't have a reply. Houtarou wondered when he had started hoping for one, hoping that his sister, who had accomplished such incredible things, could give him advice. Especially after his dealings with Class 2-F and Irisu Fuyumi, he had no illusions that he could solve Satoshi's problems by himself. On the other hand, he almost had to isolate himself and his friend, if the debacle in the Fukube household was any indication. Satoshi seemed to view Houtarou as his one and only friend, the only other inhabitant of his world, and all others were unwelcome outsiders.

As if she could read his mind, Tomoe opened her mouth to speak. "I think you're looking too hard for a quick fix." Of course he was; he didn't want Satoshi to hurt himself anymore. "You can't expect someone to simply get over depression."

"He doesn't have control though. I'd be willing to take my time if not for the fact that he so readily gives in. He can't fight it."

She grimaced, a rather alien expression for her. "Then you'll have to be with him all day and every day, to bring him off the edge of the cliff, so to speak. I can set up another futon in your room and he can stay here. I'll explain everything to our parents."

"I'd like to get him back home—"

"This isn't a choice." Houtarou flinched; her tone brought back memories of her aikido competitions and all the times she used him as a practice dummy to perfect her technique. "Satoshi-kun was the first friend you'd made in quite some time. I'm deeply grateful to him for getting you at least somewhat out of your obstinate shell. He ran away from home; he wouldn't be happy going back so soon. If he's so attached to you, then let him stay. This house is safe."

Both of them froze as they heard a soft moan coming from the couch. "You woke him up," Houtarou hissed, padding over to the couch to check on him.

"I'm sorry!" she squeaked as she followed.

Satoshi sat up, his head peeking over the back of the couch. Short brown hair fell this way and that in a messy fashion, and his shirt was wrinkled, his jacket falling off his shoulder. His eyes were half-lidded, still combating sleep, and his lips parted slightly to let out a sigh. As he continued to blink himself awake, he appeared frighteningly vulnerable.

Houtarou wanted nothing more than to protect him.

"Hou…tarou?"

"I'm here."

Satoshi stared at him a while, clearly mulling something over as he became more alert. However, Houtarou had studied the other boy long enough to notice the telltale signs—his eyes darting around, looking past the Oreki siblings, his teeth worrying his bottom lip, a hand resting on the back of the couch, preparing to push himself to his feet, an overall tensing of the muscles.

"Don't even think of running away again," he said sternly before the brunette could move, frowning eyes locking onto Satoshi's indignant ones.

Satoshi's expression remained mildly irritated, but his body relaxed enough for Houtarou to stop worrying he would run.

"Can I go to the bathroom?" Satoshi asked tersely. Before they could respond, he got up and trotted into the hallway. Neither of the siblings would admit it, but they both held their breath until he turned away from the front door.

"I'll get some soup ready then," Tomoe said. Houtarou nodded, grabbing his own bowl and finishing its contents. While he cleaned their bowls, Tomoe took down another from the cupboard.

"Use this bowl instead," Houtarou said, pulling out a smaller bowl. "No matter whether he's actually hungry or not, he probably won't be able to eat that much."

"He can't eat properly either?" Tomoe murmured. "How did he hide all these problems for so long?"

"He's a wonderful actor."

"But surely—"

"He's a wonderful actor," Houtarou repeated, "so wonderful that he even fooled himself with the persona he created."

Tomoe grimaced while she placed the bowl on the table. "Has he ever thought about going into drama?"

"He thought about it briefly in middle school. He said it was too constricting for his tastes."

"How is it constricting?"

"In drama, you have to become someone else. He's too much of a free spirit to fit his personality into another."

"Seems a little ironic."

"Life is ironic by nature."

The two of them stared at the soup dish, having run out of things to say.

"Hasn't he been in there a long time?" Tomoe commented before their eyes widened in dread. They quickly dashed out of the kitchen, around the corner and down the hall to the bathroom.

"Satoshi, are you okay?" Houtarou called, pounding on the door. "Open the door!" When no one answered, he hit harder.

"Move aside, Houtarou," Tomoe said. "I'm going to break the door."

He flattened himself against the wall and braced himself for the crash as his sister took a step.

"What are you two doing?"

Tomoe stopped, her forward momentum nearly toppling her over. Houtarou blinked; Satoshi stood in the now open door, as if he had been there the whole time.

"Why didn't you answer when we knocked on the door?"

"I was thinking about something. You know how it is."

Houtarou wasn't sure that he did, but he let it slide. Perhaps he had overreacted. "We made you some soup," he said to change the subject. "I expect you to finish at least half of it."

"I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten all day. This isn't optional, Satoshi."

Satoshi turned his head away slightly, an action that bothered Houtarou to no end. He wanted his friend to look at him; he wanted to understand him and be understood in return. It was just another failure of communication between them.

Despite his obvious displeasure towards food, Satoshi followed the Oreki siblings back to the kitchen without a word. He stirred the soup for a moment before mechanically bringing a spoonful up to his mouth.

Once it passed Satoshi's lips, a sense of triumph leapt through Houtarou's chest, something that immediately annoyed him—this was supposed to be an everyday occurrence, not a miraculous event.

"Is it good, Satoshi-kun?" Tomoe asked cheerfully.

Satoshi swallowed. "I'm sorry," he responded quietly. "I can't taste anything."

Tomoe's face fell as he lowered his eyes to his bowl.

Houtarou started up conversation again. "Aneki, did you get a call from the school about my absences?"

"No, we straightened that out after the Fukubes called to tell us you were okay. We weren't sure how long it would be, so I made something up so you could get out the rest of the week."

"Our parents let you call the school?"

"They left really early yesterday. It worked out that the Fukubes called so late at night because they were still getting packed and ready to go to the airport. Oh, that reminds me—" she picked up a pile of papers on the counter and handed it to them. "—the girls stopped by with your notes. They're going to come by again tomorrow afternoon, since it's Saturday."

Houtarou, who had been watching Satoshi the whole time, saw the boy pale. "What's wrong?" he asked, though he was pretty sure what the problem was.

"…I don't want to see them," he mumbled, stirring his food aimlessly again.

"Then I'll go call Chitanda and Ibara and tell them not to come," Houtarou suggested, moving to find the phone.

Satoshi grabbed his shirt—probably the easiest thing at the time—nearly knocking over the soup bowl. "Don't! They'll just worry more."

Startled more by his frantic tone than his sudden action, Houtarou sat back down. "Are you sure? I think they'll understand."

"I've caused enough trouble for them."

"But you clearly don't want to see them."

"Their peace of mind is more important."

"They won't mind."

"That's what you think."

"If you're not ready to see them, they'd be more worried when they see you versus if they don't. It's better for you to compose yourself first. Either way, they're going to worry."

"Then it's better for things to go as planned."

"No, it's better for us to do what's most comfortable for you."

Satoshi threw his hands up in exasperation. "Then why aren't you doing what I ask?"

"Because it's not what you really want and you know it," Houtarou replied. "You keep saying 'they,' when they really aren't important here. I want you to make a decision for yourself."

When Satoshi didn't answer, Houtarou reached for the phone and the booklet that had the contact information of all the family's friends and relatives in it. He flipped through the book to find Mayaka's home phone number. "I'm dialing," he said. "Ibara? This is Oreki. Yes, we're all right. I hear you're coming over tomorrow. Can I ask you to—"

"I want to see them." Satoshi's voice was barely audible, and Mayaka probably didn't understand why Houtarou stopped speaking. "It's fine. I have to meet them at some point. I want to see them now so I can get it out of the way."

"Oreki?" Mayaka called through the phone. "Can I do what?"

"I was just wondering if you wanted to bring cookies or something. We all appreciate your cooking, especially Satoshi."

He could almost feel the heat of her cheeks through the phone. "We-well, if you think it might help…"

"If nothing else, I'm sure my sister will like them. She still remembers the cupcakes you made from scratch back in elementary school."

"How did she get those? She never visited our school."

"I gave one to her after school and she's been not so subtly asking me to be better friends with you as a result."

"I'm not sure how I feel about that."

"Just consider it a compliment. That's all I wanted to ask; I'm hanging up now—"

"Wait! Are you alone?"

"No, my sister and Satoshi are with me."

"Can you go somewhere you can't be heard?"

"Seems tedious."

"Just do it already."

He sighed. "I'll be right back." he told the other two, ignoring their questioning expressions. He climbed the stairs to his room, making sure neither of them followed him, and closed the door. "What's going on?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm a little stressed."

"Is that all?"

No, it wasn't, but he wasn't about to tell her that he had completely broken down in his sister's arms, more so than in the hospital. "There isn't much else to say."

"You were pretty upset yesterday. I thought you were going to choke him."

"I was."

The other end was silent, and he figured she was worrying her bottom lip as she usually did in moments of distress.

"I think you're more than stressed. This is affecting you more than you think. Maybe you should—"

"If you say 'psychiatrist' or any variation of the word, I'm hanging up and not letting you in when you come tomorrow."

"But I think you should talk to someone," Mayaka insisted.

"If Satoshi agrees, then I'll agree too. But he tore up the doctor's slip as soon as he could, both for therapy and for medication."

Mayaka clicked her tongue in frustration. "I'm worried about you though, almost as much as I'm worried about Fuku-chan."

"I know." He paused before adding, "Thank you."

She made a sound of disgust through the phone. "Oreki, thanking me? I'm getting goosebumps."

"I'm still going to thank you, for the notes and for letting me take complete control of this whole situation."

"Don't thank me. I'm still not sure if that was the right decision or not."

In that case, he wasn't going to talk about what happened in the Fukube house. "Is there anything else?"

For a while, there was only silence on the other end. Houtarou was about to end the call when he heard a frustrated groan. "I'm going crazy just sitting by!" Mayaka wailed. "Let me come over."

"I'm not sure if Satoshi—"

"I'm coming over."

He huffed in resignation; she wasn't going to budge. "It's late. Let me come get you."

"That's such a gentlemanly thing to do. It's creepy coming from you."

Creepy... "If you're that set on it, I'm coming now. I need to go get my jacket from the Fukubes anyway."

"It's cold out; how did you manage to leave your jacket there?"

"…It's a long story. I'm hanging up."

"Oreki—"

He ended the call before her disapproving tone could bother him. Though she didn't have the reputation that Houtarou had developed, Mayaka had sharp perceptive skills, and he hoped he could delay telling her about Satoshi's unwillingness to go home so he wouldn't have to sit through a lecture.

"Ibara is coming over," he informed the other two as he pulled on a spare coat.

Satoshi protested immediately. "No. Don't let her come over. I don't want to see her yet."

"Because eighteen hours more will make a difference," he said sarcastically. "You already said you would see her tomorrow anyway, and she's coming over whether we like it or not. You know how she is when she sets her mind on something."

"Why are you going out then?" Tomoe asked.

"It's late. I'm going to meet with her. Also, I need to get the coat I left at Satoshi's house." When he heard no other forthcoming protests, he left quickly, before Satoshi's unrelenting stare could bother him.

Mayaka's apartment was closer than Satoshi's, so he went there first.

"It's still weird that you actually came to get me," she mused upon his arrival. "I didn't think you would care about a girl walking alone at night."

"A few weeks ago, I probably wouldn't," he agreed as they began walking down the stairs to the first floor. "Given the circumstances though, I'd rather only have to worry about one person if I can help it, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to get out of the house."

Houtarou started down the next flight of stairs, but Mayaka paused on the top step. "You're very kind," she commented softly, making him look back. Looking up at her was a rare occasion. He honestly rarely noticed their height difference except for in rare instances such as these—she always held her head high and carried herself nobly while he slouched often and stared at the floor. Their history in elementary school made it hard for him to think of her as a woman, but he had to admit she'd certainly filled out since they had first met. With the moon framing her silhouette, he could almost call her beautiful.

Almost. "It's not too often I get compliments from you."

"You deserve something for what you're doing."

"I didn't expect you to be the one to reward me for my actions."

She shrugged. The next few flights of stairs were accompanied only by the sound of footsteps.

When they reached the bottom floor, Houtarou motioned for Mayaka to take the bike.

"Why don't I just sit on the back?" she suggested.

"I don't think I can do that," he confessed, a bit of heat coming to his face.

Mayaka stared at him incredulously before laughing loudly. "I can't believe you're shy about sharing a bike with a girl."

His cheeks heated up more. "Just get on the bike."

Her legs were shorter, so pedaling was awkward, but she didn't ask him to get on, which he was grateful for. Her giggles persisted until more than halfway to the Fukube house, though.

"Houtarou-kun!" Mrs. Fukube greeted at the door. Her voice was bright, but her eyes were red and her hair was messy, far from the prim business-woman image she usually had. "I didn't expect you to come back today. Is Satoshi with you?"

Mayaka glanced at him briefly, a questioning look in her eyes. The wording must have made her suspicious. He would likely have to tell her later on.

"He's still at my house," Houtarou informed her. "My sister is watching over him. I came to pick up the jacket I left here and anything you think Satoshi would need."

"We were thinking of stopping by to do just that, so everything is right here," she said, handing him a bag, his coat draped on top of it. "We just weren't sure when we could go over and not upset Satoshi. In fact, we were just about to call your house."

In the end, it was his fault that Satoshi was depressed, and similarly, it was his fault that the Fukubes couldn't be with their son, even though they were clearly worried. "I'm sorry."

"About what? It's not your fault; we were the ones who decided on hiding everything, so if anything we should be apologizing to you."

Mayaka looked at him again, more intensely this time. He tried his best to ignore her for a little longer. "Anyway, is this everything? I've been away from the house for a while now."

"Yes, that's everything. I'll give you a call if I think of anything else."

Houtarou nodded, turning to leave.

"Ah, Houtarou-kun?" Her smile had aged some since he had last seen it in the hospital. "Thank you. I don't know what would have happened if Satoshi didn't have you."

"…Don't thank me," he murmured before bowing and walking quickly away from the door, Mayaka close on his heels.

Houtarou counted the steps—thirty-seven—until Mayaka spoke. "What was that all about?"

"What was what all about?"

"Why would Fuku-chan's parents hesitate to see him? And why did you apologize? What did they hide?"

He had wanted to avoid this. Mayaka's curiosity could be as insatiable as Chitanda, especially when it had to do with Satoshi.

"…I made a mistake," he said carefully.

The bicycle brakes screeched against the wheels as Mayaka stopped dead in her tracks. Houtarou winced at the sound and in anticipation for the girl's inevitable shout.

"How can you make a mistake? What kind of mistake? Was it intentional? We can't have this happen, Oreki or else—"

"I know, I know!" he cried, effectively interrupting her tirade. "Believe me; no one is more upset about this turn of events than me."

"What did you do?" Her tone had come back down to a normal volume which was in many ways much more frightening, compelling him to tell the whole story.

Once he was done, Mayaka's expression was much more sympathetic. "You had no way of knowing that would happen."

"In some ways though, it was the reaction I was hoping for," Houtarou admitted. "Satoshi's reaction, however, wasn't. Now, he barely trusts me, the one that tattled on him, and he doesn't even want to see his parents."

"Which explains why he's at your house instead of in his own home and bed," she finished. They turned onto Houtarou's driveway. "I don't think you should be too hard on yourself. The fact that he's still there should count for something."

"It helped that he fell asleep almost as soon as he got there."

He took out his key, only to find the door slightly ajar. He pushed it and it creaked open. "That's odd…"

"Satoshi-kun?" His sister came running into the entranceway, only to stop short when she saw who had entered.

One look at the expression on her face and Houtarou's heart sank. "What's wrong?" he asked slowly, looking her straight in the eyes.

"Satoshi-kun…" Tomoe took a shaky breath, steeling herself. "Satoshi-kun is gone."


	7. Chapter 7

“What do you mean he’s gone?”

"He's gone." Houtarou couldn’t remember Tomoe ever looking so terrified. "He wasn't saying or doing anything, so I turned my back for a while to put away the leftovers and dishes. Next thing I knew, he just…wasn’t there. I checked the bathroom and your room and the backyard and everywhere else and I saw the door was unlocked—Houtarou, he could be anywhere—”

"Aneki, calm down,” Houtarou said firmly. He handed her the bag and grabbed a scarf from the closet. “He couldn't have gone too far. His bike is still here. Ibara and I will look for him; you stay here in case he comes back."

“Take your bike,” Mayaka told him urgently. “I’ll get Fuku-chan’s.” 

“I’ll go this way.” Houtarou pointed down the road. 

“I’ll go that way then.” 

Houtarou nodded, preparing to set off, but Mayaka grabbed his arm at the last moment. 

“Oreki.” Her hand gripped his arm with bruising force, revealing the tension in her whole body. “Please—find him.”

“The same goes for you.”

She shook her head. “No, I mean you have to find him. I have a hunch that even though I’m helping the search, you’ll be the one to find him; if not you, then no one.”

“I don’t need that kind of pressure.”

“I don’t want to put it on you, especially since you’re such a slug—”

So much for the compliments from before…

“—but you’re our best shot. I don’t think anyone else can connect to him like you can. So for his sake, please find him.”

Mayaka let go reluctantly, as if she didn’t want him to go, even after putting such hopes in him. Houtarou waited a moment, making sure she was finished. He worked well under pressure, he supposed; in any case, he couldn’t afford to let her down, not with what was at stake.

He pushed off without another word, refusing to look back at her, knowing she hadn’t moved. 

In some ways, as he pedaled down the road, he didn’t want to be the one to find Satoshi, as Mayaka hoped. If he found the boy, he would only reinforce Satoshi’s dependence on him, make it even more difficult for Satoshi to find his way on his own. Also, his conversation with Mayaka showed that others would depend on him to care for Satoshi as well. But then where does that leave him? He was only one person; he needed the others to take initiative. He could feel himself slowly breaking down, and he was just so tired—

He barely stopped in time for a red light. Thinking was beginning to be hazardous for his health.

While he waited for the light to turn, though, Houtarou had nothing else to do but think. Where could Satoshi have gone? Was he wandering aimlessly, or was he looking for a particular place? At this time of night, there weren’t many places he could go. As he thought, his fingers toyed with his bangs, partly from habit and partly from frustration. All he’d been doing as of late was chasing Satoshi around—first for answers at school, then in the hospital, both verbally and physically, and twice in the streets today. 

He sighed witheringly when the light turned green and he got back on the bike. There wasn’t much he could do but keep on chasing him. 

He didn’t know where to look this time though. Satoshi hadn’t left a trail, no clues or anything, and almost no one walked around so late, especially with such frigid temperatures. Houtarou remembered seeing Satoshi’s coat still in the closet, so he had to be freezing. 

He had no choice but to follow his instincts, let his internal compass steer the way. He didn’t go out all that much, so he soon reached parts of Kamiyama that he had never seen before and was hopelessly lost. Still, he kept going. Pedaling the bike was taxing, tiring his legs and stoking a fire in his lungs. Despite the layers he wore, his whole body ached from the cold, and his face was so numb it felt as if the wind had blown it off. There were no sounds but the chain of the bicycle, clacking out a rhythm like the pendulum of a clock, marking the passage of time and space. 

As Houtarou was about to give in to exhaustion, light entered his vision. A line of streetlamps, seemingly brighter than the rest he had passed—perhaps because of their close proximity to each other—illuminated a wooden walking bridge that he often used to get home; apparently he had reentered familiar territory. Few people, if any, had used it today, the snow covering the planks completely untouched save for a single set of footprints that stopped suddenly in the middle of the bridge.

There, sitting on the ledge, feet hanging over the river below, sat Satoshi.

Breathing heavily, Houtarou stopped behind the other boy, the squealing brakes trumpeting his arrival. As he put down the kickstand, he could see Satoshi had neither a scarf nor gloves in addition to his missing coat. His skin seemed even paler than when he last saw him, and the lights reflecting off the snow lit up his whole body, making his appearance eerily ghost-like. Houtarou had to take off his glove and touch him to confirm he was real. 

“In case you’re wondering, I’m not going to jump,” Satoshi assured him.

“I wasn’t,” Houtarou responded, though the thought had crossed his mind for a split second. Houtarou wanted to ask what he was doing, but Satoshi likely wouldn’t respond. How were they supposed to understand if they didn’t communicate? He wasn’t sure what to say next though, and Satoshi didn’t continue conversation. How was he supposed to get them home? He needed Satoshi to go home of his own volition, not from a request or by force. 

Houtarou found himself climbing up onto the ledge beside Satoshi, hoping to gain some insight by “putting himself into his shoes” and mimicking his actions. Being the ungraceful person he was, he nearly lost his balance, and if not for the lamp post he had locked in a vice grip, he would have had a rather painful meeting with the river below. Spontaneity was just as perilous as thinking; he really couldn’t win either way.

Kicking aside the snow, Houtarou eased himself down onto the railing until he could let go of the lamppost without fear of falling. He grimaced at the cold, damp feeling caused by the snow, shifting this way and that to get used to it. 

Uncomfortable sensations aside, Houtarou was grateful that he could rest after pedaling all over town. Without a watch or cell-phone, he had no idea how long he had been out, but his legs were telling him it had been long enough. 

A bit of movement brought his attention up above. Tiny snowflakes floated lazily down from the sky, coating everything around in a new dusting of white, including his and Satoshi’s hair and clothes. 

“Are you cold?”

Satoshi’s question seemed incredibly inappropriate, given that Houtarou had at least three heavy layers on most of his body while Satoshi had only a thin jacket covering an equally thin shirt. 

“…Yeah. I’m cold.” It was true; Houtarou hated winter, and if he had his way, he would spend all three months of it hibernating in bed or under a kotatsu. 

“Shouldn’t you go home then?” 

Houtarou breathed out slowly, the condensed air curling around him as he thought. “Not yet.” He hoped that this line of conversation would lead Satoshi to suggest going home, so he was sorely disappointed when Satoshi didn’t say anything in return. 

He glanced towards his companion to find him staring off into space and shivering violently. He wasn’t about to let Satoshi get hypothermia, so he shrugged off his coat and threw it over his friend’s shoulders.

“I thought you said you were cold,” Satoshi said, his voice disturbingly quiet.

“You’re shaking.”

Satoshi’s fingers curled around the fabric for a moment before he put his arms through the sleeves. “I didn’t notice.”

Houtarou buried his nose in his scarf. He was starting to shiver now too, and he was just about to force Satoshi to get on his bike so they could go home right then and there. 

Satoshi spoke before he could do anything. “Houtarou.”

“Hm?”

“Let’s…Let’s go back.” He stuttered, but his words were rushed, as if he wanted to get them out before he changed his mind.

“…Okay.” Houtarou wasn’t sure what prompted the attitude change, but he wasn’t about to complain. He swung his legs around and slid back onto the bridge, glad that he was no longer dangling his legs over a racing river. Satoshi stepped down next but stumbled. Houtarou caught him on reflex.

Scanning Satoshi up and down, he grimaced at the slight discoloration in his friend’s lips. That wasn’t a good sign. “Be careful,” the taller boy said.

Satoshi nodded then began tugging off the coat. “Take your coat back.”

Houtarou stopped Satoshi’s hands. “You need it more than I do,” he said, straightening the coat so it could cover more of his friend.

Once he had Satoshi situated on the back seat, Houtarou got on and began pedaling with a grunt. The ride was harder than on the way there, as he was tired, without a coat, and carrying a passenger, but he eventually reached home. Thankfully they arrived when they did; Satoshi was nodding off in the back, and with nothing to hold him up, he’d topple over the back wheel if he fell asleep completely.

Mayaka was waiting to let them in—having given up on her search or having not left in the first place, he didn’t know. When he entered the house, Houtarou could barely contain his satisfied sigh as heat returned to his body. He ruffled snow out of his hair and clothes, but much of him was still wet.

“We need to get changed,” Houtarou said, toeing off his shoes and pulling Satoshi in the direction of his room. “It’s amazing how quickly snow will seep into clothes.”

Before the door had shut, Houtarou was already taking off his shirt, relieved to finally be rid of the wet fabric hugging his skin. He pointed to Satoshi’s bag in the corner of the room; the girls must have brought it up at some point. “Your mother gave us some of your clothes. I hope they’re warmer than what you were wearing today; I can lend you a sweater if you want.”

When he received no response, he looked over his shoulder. Satoshi had propped himself up against the wall, still in wet clothes. His face was set straight ahead, almost determined if not for the glassy look present in his hazel eyes. It wasn’t a lack of emotional faculty like in the hospital; it was more like he had lost all his thoughts.

“Hey, you can’t just sit there,” Houtarou scolded gently, kneeling down and shaking Satoshi’s shoulder. “It’s not good for you to stay in these clothes.” 

Satoshi still didn’t move. With a sigh, Houtarou went to find a towel then started peeling off the wet garments himself. As his hands came in contact with Satoshi’s body, he could feel the tremors still racking the other’s body, though they had decreased in intensity since coming inside. Once Satoshi’s shirt was off, Houtarou couldn’t help pausing in morbid curiosity. With the shirt off, he could count each one of his friend’s ribs. He quickly grabbed a long sleeved shirt to put on him and, when he couldn’t find anything warmer in Satoshi’s overnight bag, dug a sweatshirt out of his own drawers. 

Eventually, the two of them were finally dressed in dry clothes, almost entirely by Houtarou’s effort. The whole time, Satoshi was silent and compliant, an emotionless doll that Houtarou had tried so hard to be rid of before. 

When they went back downstairs, Houtarou became aware of a strange ticking noise that got louder as they approached the den. He didn’t have a chance to think too hard about it, for as soon as they stepped into the room, they were attacked by blankets and forced onto the couch. Cups of hot cocoa were placed in their hands and a ringing noise sounded from the kitchen. The ticking from before must have been the egg timer, Houtarou concluded. The smell of chocolate chip cookies wafted out of the oven, and while it hadn’t been all that long since Houtarou had eaten, running around the streets of Kamiyama had worked up an appetite. He tried getting up to help, but Mayaka and Tomoe ordered him to stay put. 

While he waited, his attention fell on Satoshi. “Do you feel better now?”

Satoshi tilted his head at the quiet question, the steam still emanating from the cup swaying slightly with his movement.

“…I’m not sure.”

“The first time you speak in an hour and that’s all you have to say?” Houtarou asked. His hand came to rest on Satoshi’s forehead—it was still cool. He recalled a discussion he had with Satoshi the previous winter about what happens when the body becomes too cold. “Are you okay? Did you catch hypothermia?”

“Hypothermia isn’t contagious,” Satoshi replied. “I’d probably be a little more disoriented.” 

“You’re looking pretty out of it to me.” His voice remained level, but internally, Houtarou was pleased to hear Satoshi’s natural database mentality coming out. He threw his blanket over Satoshi’s head to try to keep him warmer and went over to the closet to get more for all four of them. 

By the time he returned, the girls had settled down on the couch with a large plate of cookies. “We’re going to watch a movie,” Tomoe declared brightly, no hint of the fear and worry she had on her face a few hours ago. 

He nodded and moved to sit down, but then, with a wrinkle of his nose, he thought better of it. “Actually, I think I’m going to take a quick shower. Changing clothes wasn’t enough.”

“Help us pick first—romantic comedy or action anime?”

He glanced back at Satoshi, who was still gazing off into space and didn’t seem to realize Houtarou was staring. 

“Which one will be more likely to put Satoshi to sleep?” he asked, voice low so as to avoid alerting the boy on the couch. 

“A shoujo anime would probably be better then,” Tomoe decided, pulling out a box set from the middle of their stack of DVDs. The motion unbalanced the tall tower of DVDs, making it shake and sway. Houtarou took that moment to step back and start walking towards the bathroom. He was already in the hallway when the tower inevitably toppled over and the girls groaned. 

The few minutes he spent in the shower were mind-numbing, warming his body and relieving all the tension in his muscles. He wished he could spend the rest of the night in there, but there was a time and place for everything. He got out quickly before he became too attached.

He had finished getting dressed when the thought occurred to him. “Ibara, why are you still here? It’s close to midnight.”

“Your sister invited me to stay over,” she said. The girls were still cleaning up the last of the toppled DVDs. “Saturdays are half-days anyway, so it’s okay if I skip once. I called Chii-chan about it while you were gone.”

“I offered the invitation to Chitanda-chan also, but she says she’s not supposed to spend the night with boys,” Tomoe added. “Mayaka-chan will be sleeping in my room.”

Satoshi was still in a daze and likely hadn’t said anything in the twenty minutes or so that Houtarou was gone, so there was no reaction when Houtarou’s eyes flitted over to him. 

”Did Satoshi finish the soup?” he asked his sister.

“He got about halfway through, as promised.”

“That’s better than nothing. Did he say anything while I was in the shower?”

“Nope. He’s so quiet; I have to check to make sure he’s still here. Do you know why he ran off? I don’t want to bring it up for obvious reasons, but I’m curious.”

“I’ll let him tell me when he’s ready. The most important thing right now is that he’s home.”

“Fair enough.”

Houtarou shoved the plate of cookies under Satoshi’s nose, jarring him out of his stupor. The brunette shook his head, refusing to take one. Houtarou sighed as he plopped down next to Satoshi and grabbed two blankets to burrow himself into. “You’ve been staring into space for more than half an hour. Have you even touched your cocoa?” Houtarou peeked into the mug—it was still full. “I bet it’s getting cold.”

“Yeah…” Satoshi said in acknowledgement. It was almost as if they had switched; Satoshi was the energy conservationist and Houtarou was the active teenager. 

“Drink some now. You’ll feel better.”

Satoshi nodded, bringing the cup slowly to his lips. 

He turned to the television with a sigh, realizing the other two had been watching the exchange. “Start the video already,” he said, not particularly appreciative that he and Satoshi were becoming a side show. 

Tomoe quickly pressed play on the remote, bringing the screen to life. As the opening sequence played, flowery theme music singing out through the speakers, Houtarou watched Satoshi out of the corner of his eye. The other boy continued sipping at his drink, so at least he was moving now, albeit barely. He turned his mind back to the video, resolving to leave him alone for the time being. 

Around when the heroine finally confessed to her love interest, a weight fell on Houtarou’s shoulder. Having been engrossed in the anime—he’d never been one for romance, anime or otherwise, but it had just been there—he tensed in surprise, almost throwing it off on reflex before realizing what it was.

As Houtarou had hoped, Satoshi had succumbed to exhaustion and was fast asleep, color returning to his cheeks and his temperature normal again. His hands sat in his lap, fingers wrapped loosely around the mug. Gravity had taken over, bringing Satoshi down to Houtarou’s shoulder and tilting the mug rather precariously. Thankfully he had finished its contents, or else Houtarou would probably have cocoa all over his pants and the floor.

He teased the mug out of his grasp and placed it on the coffee table, making sure not to wake him up. Then he caught his sister and Mayaka’s attention and pointed silently to the mass of blankets on his shoulder. Mayaka stopped the DVD player and turned off the television while Tomoe stood in front of the two boys.

“Let me carry him up to your room,” Tomoe said.

“Oreki, you can’t expect your sister to do all the work,” Mayaka protested. 

“You expect him to be able to help?” Tomoe laughed. “He has trouble lifting up puppies.”

Mayaka nodded thoughtfully, making Houtarou bristle. “You actually believe her?” he asked incredulously.

She smirked. “I’ve never seen you lift anything bigger than a breadbox.”

Houtarou spluttered in protest but couldn’t exactly deny it. In the end, he sulked while his sister picked Satoshi up and went towards his room.

“You wimp,” Mayaka teased as they followed Tomoe up the stairs.

“I’m just conserving energy,” he told her lamely.

Mayaka rolled her eyes.

Tomoe laid Satoshi down on Houtarou’s bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. “It’s been a long day. You two should get to bed too, especially you, Houtarou.”

The two teenagers nodded, but didn’t move from their place next to the bed.

She shrugged, heading towards the door. “Whenever you two are ready, the futons are already laid out.”

Once she left, the two of them sank down on the futon next to the bed. Houtarou propped his head on his knees while Mayaka leaned against the bed, eyeing Satoshi’s arm. 

“…I’m glad that you found him, Oreki,” she said softly.

“I just got lucky,” he replied.

“It’s that sort of talk that makes some of us feel inadequate.”

“…Sorry.”

“…No, I’m sorry; that was kind of harsh.”

“No, you’re right. But in this case, it really was just luck. There’s no other way I would’ve been able to find him.”

“If you say so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I’m not sure. There’s this profound connection that you and Fuku-chan share that I believe guided you to each other.”

“I’m pretty sure that only happens in your shoujo manga.”

“I’m serious! Fuku-chan wanted you to find him, and you did. Surely you felt something.” 

“It was way too cold for me to feel much of anything.”

“You’re not the least bit romantic.”

“Romanticism wastes energy.”

Mayaka’s lips twitched. “That’s more like you. What are you planning on doing next?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what happens next.”

“I don’t think any of us do, but that’s okay. The best thing about life is that we’re not supposed to know what happens next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a month. I know I said I would update quickly, but I became incredibly busy because real life is a grumpy old man that wants too much attention. This time, I won't get your hopes up because I really have no time to work on much of anything because I have a whole lot of tests I need to study for, so if you're lucky, it will take a month, but if you're not, nothing will happen before summer starts. Really sorry for this, but just know that I'm always thinking about you guys and this story, regardless of whether I'm actually able to work on it or not. Thank you all for your support!
> 
> If anyone remembers, I started this story around episode 17, so the Valentine’s Day episode hasn’t been mentioned. Despite the rather nice food for thought that episode provided, for the sake of the chronology of this story, Constructing Dolls diverges from canon well before February. As a result, the wooden bridge has less meaning unfortunately, but I figured it’s a good setting for that scene regardless. As for Valentine’s Day, I’m not sure whether I’ll be fitting that in or not. I guess we’ll see.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The geography of the Oreki house is somewhat confusing because we really don’t get to see enough of it, so imagine what you will. Also I’m pretty sure that Japanese kids don’t go to school on Saturday anymore, but just roll with it.
> 
> This chapter was posted on FF.net in honor of my birthday, but then I sort of went to sleep and didn't get on the computer until past midnight the next day. Whoops. Anyway, enjoy!

Houtarou’s alarm went off at seven-o-clock as usual.

Through force of habit, Houtarou blindly waved his hand around above him to turn off the incessant beeping. When he felt nothing, he opened his eyes out of sheer confusion before remembering he had slept on the floor last night. Then he realized he had a completely different problem on his hands.

His bed was empty.

Houtarou scrambled to his feet, tripping over his blanket as he ran to the door, throwing it open and racing down the stairs. Unfortunately, his foot slipped halfway down, and he traveled the rest of the way down on his rear end. Once his body came to rest and the world stopped shaking, what he saw made him sigh in relief.

Satoshi sat cross-legged in the front entrance, facing the door with his elbows on his knees. “Did you think I left again?” he asked quietly.

“I honestly don’t know what to think anymore,” Houtarou replied. He slid forward to sit next to his friend, but Satoshi still wouldn’t look at him.

After a few moments of silence, Satoshi spoke again. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Ask what?”

“Why I left last night.” Satoshi finally glanced over, eyes boring into his friend.

Now Houtarou had trouble looking at him. “It depends,” he said. “Are you willing to tell me?”

“If I said I don’t want to?”

“Then I won’t ask.”

Satoshi pursed his lips. “So you’re just going to let me get away with it again?”

“We’re definitely coming back to this, but only if you’re ready. It’s not so much letting you get away with it as it is giving you a grace period.”

Satoshi stayed silent for a while, little sparks of something flitting across his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“Your patience.” Satoshi seemed reluctant to admit even that much, absentmindedly scratching at his injured arm for a few seconds. “I’ve hurt you, hid life-changing secrets from you, run away from you—aren't you angry?"

"Maybe a little, but it's more frustration than anger," Houtarou replied honestly.

"But don’t you see something wrong with me? Why aren’t you trying harder to fix me?”

Houtarou frowned. “Satoshi, you don’t need fixing.”

A floorboard upstairs creaked faintly; one or both of the girls were listening.

Satoshi didn’t seem to notice, pressing forward. “I’m not normal; I can’t think like a normal person, and I can’t act like a normal person either. The only word for that is defective, and defective things need fixing.”

“Is that what you think?” His voice came out unintentionally caustic; it was absurd for Satoshi to think that way. It took a moment for him to realize the gravity of Satoshi’s admission. Satoshi was revealing his insecurities, and if Houtarou wanted it to continue and go smoothly, he had to school his tone. “You aren’t defective.”

“Then why am I like this? Why have I just pushed everyone away? Why do I keep wanting to run away from you? Why can’t I feel happy?”

“I said before that you have to let yourself be happy. I can’t answer the other things for you.”

“That’s the thing; I want to be happy, for you guys. I’ve wanted that since I realized I wasn’t happy. But apparently it isn’t enough.”

Houtarou had no words for him; he wanted to reassure him, but he couldn’t answer any of his questions or find solutions for his dilemma. How does one be happy anyway? Houtarou never gave it much thought and now really wasn’t the time to start thinking about it.

He tried instead to subtly change the subject. “Is all of that the reason why you left?”

Satoshi shrugged. “I was suffocating. You try being under constant observation by your friends and tell me how that feels after a while.”

“I would have preferred if you had gotten mad.”

“Honestly, I hadn’t even realized I had left until I was several blocks away from your house. It was like my body was unconsciously waiting for the right moment, and when your sister turned her back, it took the opportunity.” Satoshi stared wistfully at the door. “I don’t regret it though. Even though I scared you guys, made you look all over town for me, and acted so selfishly, I needed the break. I could think better.”

“I’m really not sure if I would call that ‘thinking better,’” Houtarou sighed.

A box was shoved into his hands. “I was definitely thinking better,” Satoshi insisted, now avoiding Houtarou’s questioning gaze.

Houtarou’s brow furrowed as he inspected the box. It had no markings on it, probably one of a set from a place that sold items in bulk, though what item was in the box still remained to be seen. Why did it look so familiar?

Satoshi continued talking as he waited for Houtarou to open the box. He began speaking with a nervous pitch to his voice, apprehension apparent. "In hindsight, my parents had done the right thing, but I was too...emotional after the whole hospital stay, and I was still getting over the idea that everyone knew..."

He added more, but Houtarou concentrated on the box, unsure if he really wanted to open it or not. His expression tight, he threw caution to the wind and opened it. As soon as he did, Satoshi stopped speaking, biting lightly on his lower lip and waiting for a reaction.

Inside the box were razor blades. More specifically, they were the spare razor blades that were supposed to be in Houtarou's medicine cabinet, except instead they had ended up in Satoshi's possession.

It didn't take long for Houtarou to put the two together.

In an instant he was on his feet, determination in his face. Leaving Satoshi sitting anxiously by the door, Houtarou went upstairs, ignoring the girls that had been so blatantly eavesdropping. He was  
back downstairs a few moments later with an empty cardboard box.

Then he went to the kitchen, opened a drawer, and poured all the silverware into the box.

Bare feet rushed down the stairs. "Houtarou, stop!" Tomoe cried, running into the kitchen with Mayaka not too far behind. "I thought we agreed not to do this!"

Houtarou paused for a second, looking past them to see Satoshi standing on the threshold of the den. He couldn't hold his gaze for long. His fringe fell into his eyes as he dodged the two girls to continue his search around the house.

"Oreki!" Houtarou set his jaw, unwilling to acknowledge anyone that distracted him from his task, leaving the others to watch helplessly as he flitted around.

Some time later, Houtarou had sufficiently scoured the house. He lumbered over to Satoshi, who didn't take his eyes off the box in Houtarou's hands.

"...I was hoping my self control would mean something to you," the smaller boy murmured.

Dropping the box unceremoniously at their feet--and earning himself a wince from everyone in the room at the noise--Houtarou sat down and motioned for Satoshi to do the same.

Houtarou had many things to say to Satoshi--that it was stupid for him to steal, that he wasn't angry at him in the slightest, and that, in fact, Houtarou was proud of him.

Yet with all that and more jumbled in his head, Houtarou couldn't articulate a thing. For an embarrassing amount of time, he figured he bore an uncanny resemblance to a fish, opening his mouth to say something only to second-guess himself and close it again.

“You don’t have to say anything, Houtarou; I understand,” Satoshi said. “You still don’t trust me.” He smiled wanly, but Houtarou knew it wasn’t anything close to an actual smile. In his silence, Houtarou was one step away from shattering the bit of courage Satoshi had mustered in order to show him that box.

“That’s not it at all,” he protested. “This isn’t about whether I trust you or not.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious that you don’t think I have the willpower to avoid all the things in that box.” Houtarou balked under Satoshi’s icy stare, which, while containing only acceptance, was much more frightening than anger.

“This isn’t about your willpower. This is about the power of temptation.” The words tumbled out and, frankly, didn’t make any sense. “Er, that is…regardless of everything else, you took that box because it was available. You didn’t use them, but it’s been nagging at you for almost twenty-four hours. I can only imagine how much you debated about using them.”

Houtarou fumbled for the right words, telling himself it wasn’t like the elder Fukubes’ house cleaning. At the moment though, he really wasn't doing a good job proving otherwise.

Getting an idea, he held up the little box that started this whole thing, taking grim satisfaction in hearing the blades clink together as he shook it. “You gave me these because you clearly wanted me to do something about them,” he said slowly. “I’m not about to put these back and pretend that nothing happened. I don’t think you want that either. So, I’m removing everything sharp from the house, but I’m not going to do it secretly like your parents. I am asking your express permission to take these away so you won’t torture yourself thinking about them. If you want, you can say no. However, you have to look me in the eye and tell me that these aren’t dangerous for you, that you haven’t even thought of hurting yourself with these.”

For a moment, Satoshi met his eyes, confidence swimming in hazel pools. For a moment, Houtarou thought he would be challenged.

Then Satoshi looked away, an indescribable expression on his face.

“Please get rid of them.”

Houtarou nodded. “Aneki.” When he looked back at Tomoe, she sighed, a fond but exasperated smile on her lips.

“I’ll get my keys. Don’t leave the house until I get back,” she told them, scooping up the box and heading for the door.

Soon, they heard the engine of her car start up, and then it was just the three of them.

Satoshi curled into a ball, hugging his legs to his chest and resting his forehead on his knees. Not for the first time Houtarou found himself wondering what his friend was thinking, if only to assuage his fears that he had done something wrong.

Small but powerful hands pulled hard on the back of his collar, dragging him from the den and up the stairs. Throwing him none too gently into his bedroom, Mayaka glared at him from the doorway.

“What are you trying to prove?” she hissed. Houtarou suddenly imagined her with snakes instead of hair and a demonic gaze that turned all before it to stone—he certainly felt petrified. “Answer me!”

“He’s walking a thin line and I just want to help him avoid temptation,” he said quickly, hoping that was enough to curb her wrath.

It wasn’t. “You hurt him, Oreki! You did exactly what his parents did to him. The fact that it’s you makes it even worse. You didn’t even provide a decent explanation until the damage was already done!”

“That’s because I didn’t even have a decent explanation in the first place!” Mayaka’s glare faltered in confusion. Houtarou massaged his temples, feeling a headache coming on. “All I could think of was, ‘I have to make this house safer for him.’ He hasn’t done anything wrong. I just can’t seem to talk when I want to.”

“You’re so stupid.” Houtarou flinched. Mayaka chuckled once, the action not quite crinkling her eyes like it should. “Just don’t do something like that again.”

“Don’t hold your breath; I’m making this up as I go along.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you. You’re so—”

A crash sounded from downstairs, effectively cutting their conversation short. The two of them stared at each other, fearing the worst, and immediately they were sprinting down the stairs, trying their best not to fall. Once they entered the den, their eyes lay on a broken glass on the floor near the counter, small speckles of red mingling with the shards of glass.

Satoshi crouched next to the mess, head down, trying his best to pick up the pieces. He held several shards in his hand already, which explained his cut and bleeding fingers.

A darker part of Houtarou believed Satoshi had broken the glass on purpose.

Mayaka moved first, skirting the mess and grabbing paper towels from the sink. “Fuku-chan, use these instead,” she said.

Satoshi didn’t acknowledge her, continuing to put pieces into his hand. When she kneeled down to give them to him, her eyebrows furrowed.

Houtarou’s body decided to move then, careful of the glass as he crouched down and leaned over to grasp Satoshi’s wrists, forcing the other boy to stop.

Now that he was closer, he understood Mayaka’s concern; he could hear Satoshi’s voice, barely a whisper, repeating, “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.”

Moving his hand to support Satoshi’s own, he guided him to the towel and let the glass tumble into it. “You’re bleeding. Go wash your hands and don’t move from the sink.”

Satoshi obeyed, still chanting his mantra as if in a trance. Houtarou then took the paper towels from Mayaka and stopped her from picking up the glass. “Our first aid kit is under the sink in the bathroom. Take care of him; I’ll clean up here.”

Houtarou figured it was the chivalrous side of him that wouldn’t let Mayaka deal with sharp things and possibly get hurt. He wouldn’t admit that he didn’t want to deal with Satoshi’s injuries for fear of another side of him saying something stupid.

Pulling a sheet of newspaper from the dinner table, he swept the glass onto it with the towel, wrapped it up, and threw it away. He and his sister had broken their fair share of glasses as kids, perhaps more considering Tomoe was rather rowdy when she was little and Houtarou was clumsy. Somehow, as the years went by, he’d found himself cleaning up afterwards more and more often, so now it was quick and easy, just as he liked it.

In hindsight, that was probably his sister’s plan all along.

“I can hear you sighing from over here,” Mayaka jeered at him from where she and Satoshi had seated themselves at the table.

“I’m just remembering how my sister can make me do anything without me even realizing it.”

“I should ask her for pointers.”

“No, please don’t,” Houtarou sighed, wondering where the vacuum cleaner was. He wanted to make sure there weren’t any slivers of glass left on the ground for people—most importantly, Satoshi—to step on. If he remembered right, Tomoe moved the vacuum cleaner to the closet upstairs when she cleaned her room a week or two ago. How troublesome; their vacuum wasn’t that heavy, but having to go down a flight of steps was more work than Houtarou wanted to go through.

After much more internal griping on Houtarou’s part, the kitchen was as clean as it could be, and Mayaka had finished patching up Satoshi’s hands. As an afterthought, Houtarou poured Satoshi a mug of water, hoping that that was the reason he had gone looking for a glass in the first place.

Meanwhile, Mayaka went to return the first-aid kit to the bathroom. When she came back though, she stopped before reentering into the den. “Oreki, can I talk to you for a second?” she asked, nodding her head in the direction of the stairs.

With a fleeting glance at Satoshi to make sure he wasn’t going to drop the mug, Houtarou followed Mayaka’s lead back to his room. Suddenly exhausted, he made a beeline to his bed and flopped down onto it. “What is it?”

“Did you hear what Fuku-chan was saying down there?”

“He kept saying ‘I didn’t mean to.’”

“I don’t care about the words as much as how scared he sounded. Did he think we were going to kick him out or something because he broke a glass?”

“I think he’s worried that we’d think he did it on purpose,” Houtarou said quietly.

“Why would we think that?”

“I did.” A wave of guilt washed over him and he studiously avoided eye contact with Mayaka. “I’m not proud of it. It’s just a weird coincidence that after I make a big show of taking away all the sharp things in the house that he breaks a glass and gets himself hurt.”

“That would explain why he’s so scared. Now that you mention it, it does sound a little suspicious.”

“If you didn’t have the idea originally, don’t start agreeing with me now. This isn’t an opinion you want to support.”

“I’m not agreeing with you that you think he did it on purpose. I’m agreeing that he thinks that we think that he did it on purpose.”

“That’s a confusing line of thinking.”

“…Did you just make a joke?”

“I think so,” Houtarou drawled, about ready to fall asleep. He had had way too much excitement for one morning. The only thing keeping him awake at this point was Satoshi.

Mayaka giggled, a welcome change to the somber atmosphere that had surrounded the Oreki house. “I didn’t know you were capable of making jokes. If there’s one good thing coming out of this, it’s that I’m learning more about you.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in me.”

Houtarou didn’t mean to be anything more than literal, but Mayaka blushed anyway. “I’m not interested in that way!” she exclaimed, a little too forcefully for Houtarou’s liking. “It’s just—we’ve known each other since grade school, but I’m finding sides of you I didn’t know existed.” She surprised him with a fond smile. “I’m happy we’re friends.”

Houtarou turned his head away in embarrassment. “I didn’t know you considered us friends.”

Mayaka blinked. “I wouldn’t put up with your idiocy if I didn’t like you,” she stated plainly, as if it was common sense.

Her admission shouldn’t have been as much of a revelation as it was to Houtarou, but he had spent most of his grade school days fervently believing she hated him. He liked to read as a child, so he never wanted to play with her—or anyone else for that matter—and eventually she stopped asking. She had grow increasingly frustrated come new school terms, finding him in her class but none of her friends, and eventually resigned herself to a life with his constant presence come middle school. Houtarou figured at that point they had reached an unspoken truce, but never to the point of friendship. Apparently he was wrong.

“Is it a good idea to leave Satoshi alone for so long?” Houtarou wondered aloud. “Last time he broke a glass.”

“I don’t know. Do you want to go back downstairs?”

Houtarou was about to reply when they heard the front door open. “I’m home!” Tomoe called, cheerful as always.

“We’re upstairs!” Mayaka called, saving Houtarou the trouble of doing so himself. The playful look she gave him suggested that was the intention.

“Is it a good idea to leave Satoshi-kun alone?” Tomoe asked immediately upon entering the room.

“Funny—that’s exactly what this Oreki said a minute ago,” Mayaka said. “You two really are siblings.”

“I’m just wondering because he’s sort of staring aimlessly into space from the kitchen table.”

“We can go back down in a second,” Houtarou relented, “but I want to know what you did with that box.”

“It’s still in my car,” she replied, as if it was the obvious conclusion.

Houtarou narrowed his eyes at her, tight-lipped.

“It’s perfectly safe! The best hiding place is right under his nose. Why would he look in the car?”

“I think it’s a good idea too, Oreki,” Mayaka chimed in. “Fuku-chan won’t be going anywhere in his current state, and even if he gets in the car, he won’t look in the back without reason. At the very least, until we can think of a more secure place, it’ll be safe in there for now.”

“…Fine,” Houtarou sighed. He didn’t like Satoshi being anywhere near all the knives and pokers in that box, but out of sight, out of mind, he supposed. It wasn’t worth the energy to protest anymore.

“Did anything happen while I was gone?” Tomoe asked.

“We lost another glass.”

She laughed. “We had such a long streak going.”

“That’s because you weren’t in the house for a year.”

“Details, details.”

A creak from downstairs made everyone freeze. “That was the door,” Mayaka murmured, already making her way towards the hallway.

Tomoe wasn’t far behind. “I hear someone.”

Houtarou wormed past both of them and went down the stairs without hesitation. He knew that voice so well that there was no mistaking it.

“Oreki-san!”

“Chitanda.”

Chitanda still stood outside. Her feet were a respectable distance from the door, but her eyes glanced anxiously between Houtarou and Satoshi. Houtarou knew that look; she wanted something but social etiquette kept her from voicing her wishes.

In this case, she wanted to enter the house, but she hadn’t been explicitly let in, not to mention Satoshi stood bodily in the doorway, blank gaze never leaving Chitanda’s face. Even Houtarou felt unnerved; he couldn’t imagine how Chitanda felt receiving the full brunt of such piercing eyes.

Deciding to save her, Houtarou moved slightly in front of Satoshi—enough that he had a foot between the two, but not so much that they couldn’t still see each other—then he reached over him, pushing the door open a little more.

Chitanda took that as enough invitation, quickly scurrying inside.

“Chii-chan!” Mayaka exclaimed, rushing down the stairs. “Did you knock?”

“I knocked, but it was quiet. I wasn’t sure if anyone was awake yet.” Chitanda smiled, a hint of relief in her expression.

“Is school already over for the day?”

“I had a study period today, so I asked the teacher to go home a little early.”

"So Kamiyama High's top student is playing hooky," Houtarou mused, ushering everyone away from the door.

"It's probably because she's the top student that she can get away with it," Mayaka pointed out.

"Houtarou," Tomoe cut in, a scary smile on her face, "aren't you going to introduce me to this young lady?"

Houtarou forgot that Chitanda wasn't a friend from middle school like the other two. "Aneki, this is Chitanda Eru. Chitanda, this is my sister," he said mechanically.

With a flourish of her hand, his sister bowed. "Oreki Tomoe." She glanced at Houtarou, who didn't like the smirk she gave him. "I've heard so much about you, Eru-chan. It seems my little brother has quite the cru--"

Houtarou slapped both hands over her mouth. "Aneki!" He turned to the rest of them. "Whatever you thought she was going to say, it isn't true."

"Oh, it's pretty accurate," Mayaka said, her expression matching Tomoe's. Houtarou didn't want to think about what his life would have been like had the two girls met sooner.

Chitanda was clearly at a loss, head switching back and forth between the siblings. It wasn't until she tore her eyes away from the scene that she decided to speak up.

"Where did Fukube-san go?"

Houtarou was grateful that Chitanda's question stopped his sister and Mayaka, but he preferred the teasing over the sensation of his stomach falling out, which seemed to accompany every instance in which Satoshi disappeared from sight. Eventually the initial panic subsided, allowing him to focus on anything out of the ordinary that would point him towards his friend.

The front door wasn't locked, but it was closed, and they would have heard the squeaky hinges just like they had heard them when Tomoe had come back from driving around town. Satoshi had been closest to the door, so he would have to pass them to get to the den or the bathroom. Even if they were absorbed in teasing Houtarou, they were all hypersensitive to Satoshi's actions, and they would have noticed immediately.

This left one option: the second floor.

Without further delay, Houtarou broke away from the group and climbed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Though his reasoning had been sound, he still felt relieved to see Satoshi lounging on his bed.

Houtarou was careful not to move past the doorway. Satoshi had run away last time because he wanted space; this time was likely no different. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not sure if I can do this, Houtarou,” Satoshi said. “Conversation and interaction just flowed easily for you guys and then you all were happy. Why is it so hard for me?”

“I don’t know, but you’re not going to learn if you hole yourself up here.”

“Even when your attention’s diverted, it still feels like you’re all watching me.”

“Well, we are, but you should have expected that.”

“I just…I don’t know what to do around you guys anymore.”

“You don’t have to do anything special. Not running away might be a good idea though.”

“Um, Oreki-san? Fukube-san?”

Houtarou jumped; he wasn’t sure what he had expected when he had run up the stairs in front of all three of the girls, but for some reason Chitanda following him wasn’t one of them. She stood right on the edge of the doorframe, opposite Houtarou, hands clasped in front of her.

“My intention coming over here was to make everyone lunch. Would you two like anything in particular?”

Houtarou didn’t really know what to make of this girl. Meals were the last thing on his mind, but he supposed that a farmer’s daughter thought differently.

“We’ll just have whatever you make,” he said. “The main thing is to make sure that Satoshi’s eating something.”

“Would you two mind coming downstairs to help me then?”

A light blush colored Chitanda’s cheeks—the only indication that she was at all uncomfortable asking this of the two boys. Houtarou was certain she didn’t need any help in the kitchen, and if anything his sister and Mayaka would have been more than enough help if she had asked.

Was it really so simple? Houtarou laughed, surprising the other two. “Yeah, we’ll help—won’t we, Satoshi?” When Satoshi looked to be at a loss, he crossed the barrier into his room and walked over to his friend. “Cooking isn’t hard, right?” He held out his hand. “At least, it doesn’t have to be. Just do what’s natural. Be yourself.”

Satoshi stared at him. “It isn’t that easy.”

“You don’t know until you try.”

“Please, Fukube-san?” Chitanda stayed in the doorway, but even from that distance Houtarou could feel the force of her eyes, pulling him in.

Apparently, Satoshi wasn’t immune either. Reluctantly, he took Houtarou’s outstretched hand.

“…Okay.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Did you know that it's been a year since Constructing Dolls was published on FF.net? Well, it's been a year (and two months) and wow, how time flies! This doesn't exactly pertain to AO3 because I published this a lot later here than I did on FF.net, but regardless, it's been well over a year since I started this project in June of 2012. I didn't expect it to to be quite the undertaking it has been, but I don't regret it in the slightest. Anyway, consider this a status check. Thanks for reading; enjoy!
> 
> Also, happy early Halloween!

"What are you planning on making?" Houtarou asked as they descended the stairs. 

"I brought the ingredients for beef stew, but it's easy enough to make soup instead if you would prefer," Chitanda said.

"I guess I'd prefer the one that takes more time to prepare."

"Beef stew requires more effort, if that's what you mean." 

She smiled; Houtarou was pretty sure she was teasing him.

"Whatever—hey, be careful." Satoshi missed the last step on the stairs and Houtarou barely caught him in time. 

A shiver passed over Satoshi's skin momentarily before the boy righted himself. "...Can you let go of my arm?"

Houtarou didn't need to be asked twice. "Sorry."

"It's fine." He still seemed a little wobbly, but the unsteadiness receded as they approached the kitchen. Houtarou shrugged, moving instead to find pots and pans.

"It would probably be fastest if I work with the meat," Chitanda said. "Mayaka-san, if you would work with the vegetables; Tomoe-san and Fukube-san can make the gravy, and Oreki-san can make the rice."

Houtarou noticed that she studiously avoided saying "cut," but she also gave him the easiest job, so he had no complaints.

There was another problem though. "Chitanda-san," Satoshi said, barely loud enough to be heard, "you can't cut anything here. There aren't any knives in the house."

"Why is that?" Chitanda asked.

Tomoe laughed nervously. "It's a long story. Do you think you can get some from your house? I can tell you the whole thing on the way..." She pushed Chitanda gently towards the door, clearly not taking "no" for an answer. A second later, the driveway was empty. 

Houtarou knew his sister considered speed limits to be mere suggestions, which explained how the two girls came back within fifteen minutes despite how far away Chitanda's house was. It also explained the wide-eyed expression Chitanda was sporting upon their return. 

"We're back!" Tomoe called cheerfully. "Eru-chan has a big house; I wish we could live there."

"But Tomoe-san's driving is fun!" Chitanda said enthusiastically, and Houtarou realized her eyes were wide in admiration, not fear. "I've never gone over those hills so fast! At first I was worried we would hit something, but she didn't even get close! It was amazing!"

"Chitanda, please don't drive like my sister," Houtarou sighed exasperatedly. "The only amazing thing is that she hasn't gotten a ticket."

"The point is that I haven't, so I'm still a good driver," Tomoe reasoned. 

"Your logic astounds me." 

She ignored them. "Let's get started on lunch!"

Houtarou finished first, naturally, as the rice cooker did most of the work for him, so instead of helping out the others, he sat at the table and watched them.

"If you're bored, then you could wash these vegetables for me," Mayaka said after seeing his eyes on her.

"Oh no, I'm having the time of my life right here," Houtarou drawled, punctuating his remark with a yawn.

Mayaka rolled her eyes and resumed her task.

Switching his attention to his sister and Satoshi, Houtarou's brow furrowed. Something felt off, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Satoshi-kun, hand me the bay leaves, please," Tomoe said, holding out her hand expectantly.

After a moment's hesitation, Satoshi grabbed the leaves. He missed her hand the first time he tried giving them to her.

Houtarou's eyes narrowed, focusing even harder on Satoshi. His friend's chest moved in and out unevenly, and at a much quicker pace than usual. His hand shook slightly where it hovered in midair, and his skin had taken on a pale color that was too reminiscent of last night for Houtarou to ignore.

"Satoshi, come here," he called, gesturing with his hand.

As Satoshi approached, Houtarou noticed even more things that were wrong. Satoshi's eyes didn't seem to focus for very long, and a cloudy haze had settled over them. His steps were too careful, and his breathing accelerated with every step, though not enough that, had Houtarou not been paying such close attention to him, anyone would have noticed. A dusting of pink and a thin layer of sweat covered his face.

Satoshi stood on the other side of the table, a hand on the back of one of the chairs. It seemed like an innocuous movement, but his knuckles were white. "What is it?" he asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper.

Houtarou could hear a rasping undertone to it; his frown deepened. He got up and leaned over to put a hand on Satoshi's forehead.

"Damn—Aneki!" he cried, causing his sister to jump. "Leave the gravy to Chitanda and find me the thermometer and cold medicine—Satoshi has a fever."

Tomoe and Chitanda switched places in a heartbeat, the former rushing off to the bathroom. 

"When were you going to tell us you were sick?" Houtarou scolded lightly as he led the other boy back to his bedroom. His voice held no heat though, concern overriding any sort of anger he felt towards Satoshi's utter disregard for his own health. Satoshi murmured something that he couldn't understand. Houtarou couldn't pursue the conversation any longer though; with each step, Satoshi leaned more and more into him for support, until Houtarou was practically carrying him into his room.

"Hey, don't fall asleep just yet." Houtarou said, shaking Satoshi as he dragged him the last few feet to the bed. 

As if on cue, Tomoe entered the room holding a thermometer and reading the back of a box of pills. "He needs to eat something before he takes this," she said, handing both items to her brother. "I'll go find something."

Placing Satoshi on the bed as gently as possible, Houtarou slipped the thermometer under the other's tongue and waited, sitting down so Satoshi could rest his head on his shoulder and wouldn't keel over entirely before the device finished working.

39.1°—their thermometer had never displayed such a high number.

"This is what happens when you run around in the cold for too long without a jacket," Houtarou chided. He received unintelligible mumbling in response.

Tomoe returned with a small bowl of leftover soup. "What's his temperature?"

"A little over thirty-nine." Houtarou took the bowl and coaxed Satoshi away from his shoulder to eat. 

She grimaced. "We can't let it get any higher.'"

"I know."

Once Satoshi dazedly finished as much as he could—which, unfortunately, was possibly less than normal—the siblings tried convincing him to take pills with little success.

"I'm not taking medication," he slurred, head lolling about as he fought sleep.

"These are for your cold, Satoshi," Houtarou enunciated for the fifth time. "They're to lower your fever and help you sleep."

"He's sick, Houtarou," Tomoe said. "Don't be cross with him."

Houtarou clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Alright then," he said. "In that case, tell me why you won't take these pills. You know they'll make you feel better."

Creases appeared on the other boy's brow as comprehension of the question slowly came to him. "Well..." he began, drawing out the word as he formed a response.

"What?"

"If I start taking medicine, I'll have to admit I have a problem." His foggy gaze became more lucid for a moment, a hint of pain unrelated to his illness passing over his entire being. 

Houtarou wasn’t entirely sure they were still talking about cold medication. “Fine, just go to sleep,” he sighed. Though he had plenty of ammunition to fire back, arguing with Satoshi while he was sick seemed both childish and unfair.

He redirected his attention to making Satoshi comfortable. “Do you think we can do anything about the window?” he asked his sister. “It doesn’t have blinds.” 

“We could pin up some fabric, but that’s about it,” she replied. “It should be all right though; not much sun comes through this side of the house in the afternoon.”

“I’ll go find some pins if you find the fabric,” Houtarou suggested, about to make his way to the door.

A weak tug on the hem of his shirt stopped him. “Stay,” Satoshi whispered, his energy clearly exhausted just from moving his arm. Unlike at the hospital, it would’ve been easy to break out of Satoshi’s hold. Houtarou doubted he’d cause any offense if he freed himself, and that was provided the other boy even remembered this when he woke. 

Even so, Houtarou felt compelled to stay. He shared a glance with Tomoe, who nodded and left the room to find supplies for blocking the window.

“Why are you so intent on keeping me around all the time?” he wondered aloud.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“We’ll be right downstairs. You aren’t going to be alone.”

Satoshi’s arm went slack, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m always alone.”

Houtarou instinctively caught the other’s hand as it lost its grip on his shirt. He tucked it neatly next to Satoshi’s body and pulled the covers up and over him from where they had been bundled at the foot of the bed. These actions were almost entirely mechanical, most of his mind caught up in Satoshi’s feverish words. 

Houtarou couldn't think of a time he himself had felt lonely. He never cared much about his classmates, except maybe Mayaka's apparent permanence in his small world. At the end of the day, if he had a good book and a family that loved him, he couldn't complain. Then again, strictly speaking, the whole idea of loneliness was a painful feeling in the absence of others. Houtarou never had that feeling, so he supposed he never was lonely. Satoshi was a different story.

Though he preferred his lifestyle above all else, Houtarou had always admired Satoshi's ability to effortlessly surround himself with people. Amiable and outgoing, Satoshi found friends everywhere. If he found anything worth mentioning about a person, he had no problem starting conversation and one thing would lead to another until it was like they had been friends for much longer than ten minutes.

To think that through all that he felt at all alone...It was baffling. Had this come up before or after he started hurting himself? Houtarou didn't know if he could fix loneliness in someone if he felt as such even when with others.

"Houtarou?"

His sister's face entered his vision, and, looking down at her and the clock behind her, he realized almost twenty minutes had passed.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, concerned.

"...Can you feel lonely when you're constantly surrounded by friends?"

Tomoe's eyes drifted over to Satoshi. "Yes, I think it's possible. It's not a healthy sentiment though."

Houtarou's brow furrowed. He had come to a similar conclusion himself, but hearing it from someone else just confused him more.

After they had pinned up a dark piece of fabric over the window, Tomoe said, "Lunch is ready. Do you want to come down to eat after we put this up?"

Houtarou shook his head. "It's better for me to stay."

“Then we’ll come up here.”

“You’re all too noisy,” he protested, but his sister was already trotting down the stairs, probably to get the girls and tell them of her plan. 

Sure enough, she returned with the other two in tow, carrying utensils, four bowls of rice, and a steaming pot. As the trio made themselves comfortable on the floor, Houtarou sighed. He was sorely outnumbered and there was nothing he could do about it.

Contrary to what he had said before, Houtarou didn’t expect the others to be so tactless as to make noise while Satoshi slept, but the resulting silence made the unavoidable noises seem excruciatingly loud. The clicking of chopsticks turned into resounding drum beats, the brief scraping of the ladle against the pot like an air horn. He found himself constantly glancing over to make sure Satoshi stayed asleep. Once, the other boy had moaned briefly, and everyone else in the room froze, only for him to turn over and continue sleeping soundly. It took five minutes for Houtarou to relax after that. 

"Oreki," Mayaka muttered under her breath, "you're making me tired. Nothing's happening, so stop worrying so much."

Houtarou scowled and willed himself to take her advice. He couldn't remember a time he had ever been this on edge.

She suddenly turned to Chitanda. "Chii-chan, go take a walk with him."

"Eh? Me?" Chitanda squeaked.

"He needs to get out and he's probably gotten sick of his sister and me. Frankly, we've all been together for way too long, and Oreki in particular hasn't done anything that wasn't related to Fuku-chan in almost four days."

"We can take care of Satoshi-kun for an hour or so," Tomoe chimed in.

Houtarou wanted to think he was more resilient than that, but now that his house had calmed down, he could feel the adrenaline rush from three days ago finally subsiding. Between biking all over town the day before and waking up way too early on a day off, there had never been a point for him to lay back and take it easy, even when sleeping.

"I guess I wouldn't mind a walk."

 

 

They didn't walk for very long. After about fifteen minutes, they reached a park and Houtarou immediately found a park bench to sit down on. 

He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. The fresh air calmed him tremendously; he wasn't an outdoor person, but this was the first chance in a long time that he had been able to go out just for the sake of being out. The resulting freedom made him want to take a nap on the bench right then and there, away from the weight of responsibility.

Unfortunately, he had a companion. "Oreki-san," Chitanda said, "may I ask a question? There's something I'm curious about."

Houtarou, for once, didn't mind indulging her, even if she was intruding on his precious quiet time. "What is it?"

"Fukube-san...in the last couple of months, I've noticed that he always seemed tired. You two eat lunch together, and whenever I stopped in, he never seemed to be eating."

That wasn’t much of a question; it was somewhat unlike her not to get straight to the point. "He always said he ate his lunch during class," Houtarou replied, keeping the abnormality to himself. "I never thought to confirm it."

"Yes, I thought as much. Fukube-san never talked to any of us and we never thought to ask. Now, he's neglected his health to the point that he has a high fever. He's hurting himself so much and I don't understand why. Does he not remember he has friends?"

"Is that your question?" Houtarou asked.

She shook her head. "I do wonder what he thinks of us and why he felt the need to hurt himself. However, you stated yourself that it would be better for Fukube-san to talk to us himself, so I will hold off on that. My main concern is this—why didn't Fukube-san try to talk to us? Weren’t all the fun times we had with him real?"

"That's two questions."

"Excuse me. Do you mind answering both?"

"It's fine." Houtarou leaned back in the bench, his eyes on the gray expanse above. It looked like it might snow again, but he wasn't ready to return home. "If you remember from the hospital, Satoshi doesn't put much value on his life. So, he refused to burden us with his insecurities because it didn't matter what happened to him so long as we were happy. He put on a front so we would remain blissfully unaware of his troubles.

"Still, I don't think the fun we had was fake, at least for us. Our reactions to certain situations are genuine, so while it might not be true that Satoshi was enjoying himself, we were having fun."

"Is that enough?" Chitanda gazed at her hand in her lap, her fingers fidgeting. "If not all of us were enjoying ourselves, were we truly having fun?"

Houtarou closed his eyes in brief contemplation. "For simplicity's sake, I believe so. It's bad enough that all of Satoshi's actions are subject to reevaluation; I don't see any benefit in questioning the validity of our own feelings."

Chitanda didn't reply for a while. Houtarou was drifting slowly into unconsciousness when she chose to speak again. "Oreki-san, why do people try to kill themselves?"

"It depends on the person."

"But they have people that care about them!"

"Sometimes it just doesn't matter." Houtarou nervously ran his hand through his hair, uncomfortable with discussing the subject. "Let me put this into perspective. Sekitani Jun was forced to leave school despite the fact that he wasn't the only one at fault during the student protests. He felt unable to even scream because to do so would cause trouble for his classmates and friends, which left him in an impossible situation. Similarly, some people think their lives have presented them with an impossible situation, be it at the expense of money, social standing, or personal happiness. It doesn't matter that others think there are solutions because they believe they have lost control of their lives. Ironically, they still have some control as they then make the conscious decision to end their own lives. Some even succeed. We were fortunate."

Houtarou glanced over to gauge the effect of his little speech. Chitanda's head was bowed, her shoulders slouching forward slightly. With a tilt of her head, she met his gaze, and her usually sparkling eyes had taken on a slight dullness. 

They had all been hit hard by Satoshi's collapse, hadn't they?

"Let's continue walking," Houtarou suggested, standing and brushing snow off the back of his pants. "We've been sitting here thinking for too long."

"….Yes, I wouldn't mind a walk."

 

 

Houtarou didn’t know what compelled them—or at least, what compelled him—to walk far enough that they entered Chitanda territory. As soon as they noticed, they came to an immediate telepathic consensus to stop in their tracks. They didn’t turn around though; something hung in the air that needed addressing before they could even think of going back. 

Houtarou always found Chitanda to be a serious person; her outward demeanor couldn’t quite be described as such, but the straightforward manner with which she approached her life lent itself to this impression. When Chitanda turned to him, he finally had evidence that his conclusion wasn’t entirely baseless. With her mouth set in a determined line, her brow tense, and her eyes focused, it was possibly the most serious expression she had ever displayed. 

“Oreki-san.” Even her voice had hardened. “Take a look around you.”

Houtarou obeyed; there wasn’t much in the area they were in. A few areas along the side of the road were clearly meant for cultivation; that much was clear even with the layer of snow on the ground. Obviously they were barren now, but he knew that come spring, they would be painstakingly worked over and planted with countless seeds, a job that Houtarou would never dream of being a part of. Some trees lined the road, but they were as sparse as the rest of the land. 

“Can you see?” Chitanda continued. “This place is not particularly significant. Neither is the rest of our estate. We may be a powerful family in Kamiyama, but in the long run, we don’t have much to offer the world.” 

She met his eyes, a sort of forlorn cloud settling over her gaze. “Regardless, this is my place. No matter what I plan to pursue in my life, I will always come back here. My life has been leading up to the day when I take over as the protector of the Chitanda history. I accepted that long ago.”

She paused a moment, her breath curling around her chin. “I understand that not everyone is the same. Not everyone knows what they will get out of life, nor do many people want to know. Few see this place as a place of potential. It is old, as are the people, and it is nothing close to beautiful. However, I think, at the very least, I want to see what I can make of it and what I can make of my life.”

Houtarou was struck with how fundamentally different Chitanda and Satoshi were. Chitanda knew what she had in the world and what she wanted to do with it. Satoshi simply didn’t, and it was in that unknown variable that made him lose himself. 

Chitanda still had more to add though. “Therefore, I can’t understand Fukube-san as hard as I try. While there isn’t much potential in our environment, there is always potential in our lives. He seems to be throwing that away, though I know it isn’t that simple.” She finally looked away, her face returning to the demure image she usually sported. “I realize that I’m in the wrong, and I’d like to understand him, but he’s so difficult to approach. It’s rather scary, to be honest.”

“I’ve noticed you do this sometimes,” Houtarou commented, “thinking that your opinion is baseless just because it seems insensitive.”

“But being insensitive means I’m misunderstanding,” Chitanda protested.

Houtarou shook his head. “No, it means you’re human.” He continued, “Your opinions matter. Especially for someone compassionate like you, it doesn’t hurt to think the way you do. You told me yourself that you wouldn’t accept that your feelings won’t have meaning several years down the line. The same thing applies here.”

He looked over his surroundings once more. “…After Satoshi’s better, tell him what you just told me. Take him here and show him. He may not enjoy the trip, but he won’t be able to reject your enthusiasm.”

For the first time that day, Chitanda truly smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

 

“Oreki-san, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“This walk was meant to be for you.”

“It still is for me. Conversation…can be nice sometimes—even if it’s tedious.”

 

 

It took well over an hour for them to even decide to go back. That hour served to completely unwind Houtarou’s tense mind and body, but the hour it took to go back served to slowly recreate that tension. As they approached the house, Houtarou felt the apprehension in every muscle, nerve, and bone; the last time he had left the house, when he had returned, Satoshi had been nowhere to be seen. He half expected a repeat performance, so he had mixed feelings to find a locked door and a quiet house. On one hand, he could breathe easier knowing that for once, nothing had happened while his back was turned, but he sure as hell felt silly worrying now.

“We’re home,” he said out of habit, careful to mind the volume.

“Welcome back,” Mayaka said, poking her head out of the den. “You guys were out a while.”

Houtarou pulled at his shoe in hopes of taking it off without unlacing it. It wasn’t working. “Where’s my sister?”

“She left to run some errands.” 

“How’s Satoshi?”

“No change.”

Finally getting his shoes off, Houtarou stared at the staircase, wondering whether Satoshi was sleeping well or not. “I’m going to go check on him.”

When he entered his room, Satoshi was tossing and turning, the blankets bundled up at the foot of the bed. Houtarou tried his best to spread the blankets back onto Satoshi’s body, but the other’s movements made it difficult. A hand on his friend’s forehead indicated that his fever was still quite high, but the sweat accumulating on his brow was a good sign.

Upon closer inspection, however, sweat wasn’t the only thing on Satoshi’s face. Houtarou’s shoulders slumped, a mournful expression taking over his visage. He went out and grabbed a towel and a small basin filled with water from the bathroom before returning and wiping down Satoshi’s forehead. As he did, he found himself thinking aloud.

“What are you crying for?”

Of course, he received no response. 

 

 

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully. Houtarou wouldn’t leave Satoshi’s side, and the girls ended up bringing dinner up to his room again, leading to another silent and deafening meal. Mayaka and Chitanda ended up leaving shortly afterwards, promising to return the following day to check in on Satoshi—and Houtarou, they added when they thought he wasn’t listening.

Tomoe, after watching her brother all day, set up a second futon in his room. She claimed it was to watch over Satoshi; Houtarou knew for a fact that his friend wasn’t the only one on her mind. 

He supposed all three of the girls had reason to worry about him; after returning from what was supposed to be a relaxing walk, he had been sporting a rather disagreeable expression the rest of the day. To be honest, he couldn’t explain it entirely himself. He could feel this weight in his chest that wouldn’t leave, a feeling that had manifested immediately after Satoshi’s collapse but had been ignored until now. As he settled in to sleep, he still couldn’t put his finger on the source of the ugly feeling he had. 

Tomoe had positioned their beds so their heads were almost touching; it was the more comfortable way to fit into Houtarou’s room, and they could talk without raising their voices above a whisper. “Houtarou, are you asleep?” she asked.

“No.”

“Something on your mind?”

“…Maybe.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“I’m not sure.”

Tomoe decided not to press.

Houtarou supposed she didn’t have to. “I’ve been…having this funny feeling,” he began, unsure of how to proceed. He thought back to when his sister had asked about his troubles right after Satoshi’s mask had first become apparent. He hadn’t known how to express his trepidations then, and now he had an even looser grasp of what was going on than before. “It’s like there’s this hole in my chest that’s slowly getting bigger and bigger. I don’t really know what caused it, and I don’t know why it’s happening.”

“I’m assuming it has to do with Satoshi-kun.”

“Perhaps.” 

“You know, you were telling Satoshi to think about himself for a change.” Tomoe crawled forward and rested her head on his pillow so they could look each other in the eye, albeit upside down. Even in the dim lighting, her eyes sparkled with a fierceness Houtarou had never seen her without. “Have you ever thought of taking your own advice?”

“I’m not sure if that’s relevant to this,” he responded blandly.

“Of course it is.” She pulled her own pillow out from underneath her and brought it to her chest. Getting more comfortable meant she was about to lecture him. “Houtarou, you’ve always had trouble letting loose. I know that you’re the epitome of reserved, but you have to know when to really push back. Satoshi-kun will only talk to you; that doesn’t mean you need to coddle him. If he’s doing something wrong, tell him. If he’s doing something you don’t understand, tell him.”

“It’s not that simple!” They both stopped as Satoshi stirred at the sudden noise and held their breaths until he settled down again. “It’s not that simple,” Houtarou repeated in a quieter tone. 

“Yes it is,” Tomoe insisted. “Satoshi-kun is still a human; just because he’s in pain doesn’t mean you need to stop treating him as such. He can make mistakes and he can do things that we don’t like. He won’t know he’s crossed the line unless you tell him.”

“That isn’t my problem.”

“Fine, then it’s my problem that you aren’t worrying about yourself enough.”

“How can I afford to worry about myself when Satoshi’s crying in his sleep?” Houtarou wasn’t willing to acknowledge that the corners of his eyes stung. “It feels like it’s been an eternity since I started this awful process of trying to get into Satoshi’s head, and it’s getting nowhere fast. It’s like his demons just keep multiplying; now they attack him in his sleep even though they were already messing with his head when he was awake. Not to mention that he caught a cold, so we can’t talk. After everything that’s happened though, we desperately need to straighten some things out. As you guys said, this is the perfect time for us to relax, but I can’t. I can’t relax when I’m with him, and I can’t relax when I’m away from him either. Frankly, I’m sick of everything...”

Tomoe listened quietly as his fervor slowly died down. When he finally reached a lull in his monologue, she said, “Does that feel better?”

Houtarou paused. He had to admit that the void in his chest had diminished, though at the core, there was something there that still needed addressing that was unrelated to his need to vent. “...It does.”

“Don’t wait so long next time. Maybe we should have a chat like this every night, just the two of us.”

“Sounds tiring.”

“But look; you’re already back to your old self.”

“The old me would already be sleeping by now.”

Tomoe laughed. “Then close your eyes.”


End file.
